THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 


"With  a  quick  jerk,  he  bared  his  shirt-front."     Page  69 


THE 

WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 


ANNA  KATHARINE  GREEN 


Author  of 

The  Millionaire  Baby 

The  Filigree  Ball,  The  House  in  the  Mist 

The  Amethyst  Box,  etc.,  etc. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1906 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


APRIL 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTBB  PAOB 

I  THE  WOMAN  WITH  THE  DIAMOND    ...           1 

II  THE  GLOVES       .......         21 

III  ANSON  DURAND  43 

IV  EXPLANATIONS  70 
V  SUPERSTITION             ......         85 

VI    SUSPENSE  104 

VII  NIGHT  AND  A  VOICE           .....       116 

VIII  ARREST       ........146 

IX  THE  MOUSE  NIBBLES  AT  THE  NET     ...        151 

X  I  ASTONISH  THE  INSPECTOR       .....       162 

XI  THE  INSPECTOR  ASTONISHES  ME       ...        173 

XII    ALMOST -       -       183 

XIII  THE  MISSING  RECOMMENDATION       •       -       -        199 

XIV  TRAPPED  -217 

XV  SEARS  OR  WELLGOOD         .....       238 

XVI    DOUBT 255 

XVII  SWEETWATER  IN  A  NEW  RdLE                                                     265 

XVIII    THE  CLOSED  DOOR -278 

XIX    THE  FACE 288 

XX  MOONLIGHT — AND  A  CLUE         ....       294 

XXI  GRIZEL!    GRIZEL!     -        -       .       -       -       -        304 

XXII  GUILT         ........317 

XXIII  THE  GREAT  MOGUL            -                                       326 


~ 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 


THE 
WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 


THE  WOMAN  WITH  THE  DIAMOND 

I  was,  perhaps,  the  plainest  girl  in  the  room  that 
night.  I  was  also  the  happiest — up  to  one  o'clock. 
Then  my  whole  world  crumbled,  or,  at  least,  suf 
fered  an  eclipse.  Why  and  how,  I  am  about  to  re 
late. 

I  was  not  made  for  love.  This  I  had  often  said 
to  myself;  very  often  of  late.  In  figure  I  am  too 
diminutive,  in  face  far  too  unbeautiful,  for  me  to 
cherish  expectations  of  this  nature.  Indeed,  love 
had  never  entered  into  my  plan  of  life,  as  was 
evinced  by  the  nurse's  diploma  I  had  just  gained 
after  three  years  of  hard  study  and  severe  training. 

I  was  not  made  for  love.  But  if  I  had  been ;  had 
I  been  gifted  with  height,  regularity  of  feature,  or 

1 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

even  with  that  eloquencs  of  expression  which  re 
deems  all  defects  save  those  which  savor  of  deform 
ity,  I  knew  well  whose  eye  I  should  have  chosen  to 
please,  whose  heart  I  should  have  felt  proud  to  win. 

This  knowledge  came  with  a  rush  to  my  heart — 
(did  I  say  heart?  I  should  have  said  understand 
ing,  which  is  something  very  different) — when,  at 
the  end  of  the  first  dance,  I  looked  up  from  the 
midst  of  the  bevy  of  girls  by  whom  I  was  sur 
rounded  and  saw  Anson  Durand's  fine  figure  emerg 
ing  from  that  quarter  of  the  hall  where  our  host 
and  hostess  stood  to  receive  their  guests.  His  eye 
was  roaming  hither  and  thither  and  his  manner  was 
both  eager  and  expectant.  Whom  was  he  seeking? 
Some  one  of  the  many  bright  and  vivacious  girls 
about  me,  for  he  turned  almost  instantly  our  way. 
But  which  one? 

I  thought  I  knew.  I  remembered  at  whose  house 
I  had  met  him  first,  at  whose  house  I  had  seen  him 
many  times  since.  She  was  a  lovely  girl,  witty  and 
vivacious,  and  she  stood  at  this  very  moment  at  my 
elbow.  In  her  beauty  lay  the  lure,  the  natural  lure 


THE    WOMAN  WITH  THE    DIAMOND 

for  a  man  of  his  gifts  and  striking  personality.  If 
I  continued  to  watch,  I  should  soon  see  his  counte 
nance  light  up  under  the  recognition  she  could  not 
fail  to  give  him.  And  I  was  right;  in  another  in 
stant  it  did,  and  with  a  brightness  there  was  no  mis 
taking.  But  one  feeling  common  to  the  human 
heart  lends  such  warmth,  such  expressiveness  to  the 
features.  How  handsome  it  made  him  look,  how 
distinguished,  how  everything  I  was  not  except — 
But  what  does  this  mean?  He  has  passed  Miss 
Sperry — passed  her  with  a  smile  and  a  friendly 
word — and  is  speaking  to  me,  singling  me  out, 
offering  me  his  arm !  He  is  smiling,  too,  not  as  he 
smiled  on  Miss  Sperry,  but  more  warmly,  with  more 
that  is  personal  in  it.  I  took  his  arm  in  a  daze. 
The  lights  were  dimmer  than  I  thought;  nothing 
was  really  bright  except  his  smile.  It  seemed  to 
change  the  world  for  me.  I  forgot  that  I  was  plain, 
forgot  that  I  was  small,  with  nothing  to  recom 
mend  me  to  the  eye  or  heart,  and  let  myself  be 
drawn  away,  asking  nothing,  anticipating  nothing, 
till  I  found  myself  alone  with  him  in  the  fragrant 

I 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

recesses  of  the  conservatory,  with  only  the  throb  of 
music  in  our  ears  to  link  us  to  the  scene  we  had  left. 

Why  had  he  brought  me  here,  into  this  fairyland 
of  opalescent  lights  and  intoxicating  perfumes? 
What  could  he  have  to  say — to  show?  Ah!  in  an 
other  moment  I  knew.  He  had  seized  my  hands,  and 
love,  ardent  love,  came  pouring  from  his  lips. 

Could  it  be  real?  Was  I  the  object  of  all  this 
feeling,  I?  If  so,  then  life  had  changed  for  me 
indeed. 

Silent  from  rush  of  emotion,  I  searched  his  face 
to  see  if  this  Paradise,  whose  gates  I  was  thus  pas 
sionately  bidden  to  enter,  was  indeed  a  verity  or 
only  a  dream  born  of  the  excitement  of  the  dance 
and  the  charm  of  a  scene  exceptional  in  its  splendor 
and  picturesqueness  even  for  so  luxurious  a  city  as 
New  York. 

But  it  was  no  mere  dream.  Truth  and  earnest 
ness  were  in  his  manner,  and  his  words  were  neither 
feverish  nor  forced. 

"I  love  you !  I  need  you !"  So  I  heard,  and  so  he 
soon  made  me  believe.  "You  have  charmed  me  from 

4 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

the  first.  Your  tantalizing,  trusting,  loyal  self, 
like  no  other,  sweeter  than  any  other,  has  drawn 
the  heart  from  my  breast.  I  have  seen  many  wom 
en,  admired  many  women,  but  you  only  have  I 
loved.  Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

I  was  dazzled;  moved  beyond  anything  I  could 
have  conceived.  I  forgot  all  that  I  had  hitherto 
said  to  myself — all  that  I  had  endeavored  to  im 
press  upon  my  heart  when  I  beheld  him  approach 
ing,  intent,  as  I  believed,  in  his  search  for  another 
woman ;  and,  confiding  in  his  honesty,  trusting  en 
tirely  to  his  faith,  I  allowed  the  plans  and  purposes 
of  years  to  vanish  in  the  glamour  of  this  new  joy, 
and  spoke  the  word  which  linked  us  together  in  a 
bond  which  half  an  hour  before  I  had  never  dreamed 
would  unite  me  to  any  man. 

His  impassioned  "Mine!  mine!"  filled  my  cup  to 
overflowing.  Something  of  the  ecstasy  of  living 
entered  my  soul ;  which,  in  spite  of  all  I  have  suf 
fered  since,  recreated  the  world  for  me  and  made  all 
that  went  before  but  the  prelude  to  the  new  life,  the 
new  joy. 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

Oh,  I  was  happy,  happy,  perhaps  too  happy! 
As  the  conservatory  filled  and  we  passed  back  into 
the  adjoining  room,  the  glimpse  I  caught  of  myself 
in  one  of  the  mirrors  startled  me  into  thinking  so. 
For  had  it  not  been  for  the  odd  color  of  my  dress 
and  the  unique  way  in  which  I  wore  my  hair  that 
night,  I  should  not  have  recognized  the  beaming 
girl  who  faced  me  so  naively  from  the  depths  of  the 
responsive  glass. 

Can  one  be  too  happy?  I  do  not  know.  I  know 
that  one  can  be  too  perplexed,  too  burdened  and  too 
sad. 

Thus  far  I  have  spoken  only  of  myself  in  con 
nection  with  the  evening's  elaborate  function.  But 
though  entitled  by  my  old  Dutch  blood  to  a  certain 
social  consideration  which  I  am  happy  to  say  never 
failed  me,  I,  even  in  this  hour  of  supreme  satisfac 
tion,  attracted  very  little  attention  and  awoke  small 
comment.  There  was  another  woman  present  better 
calculated  to  do  this.  A  fair  woman,  large  and  of  a 
bountiful  presence,  accustomed  to  conquest,  and 
gifted  with  the  power  of  carrying  off  her  victories 

6 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

with  a  certain  lazy  grace  irresistibly  fascinating  to 
the  ordinary  man ;  a  gorgeously  appareled  woman, 
with  a  diamond  on  her  breast  too  vivid  for  most 
women,  almost  too  vivid  for  her.  I  noticed  this 
diamond  early  in  the  evening,  and  then  I  noticed 
her.  She  was  not  as  fine  as  the  diamond,  but  she 
was  very  fine,  and,  had  I  been  in  a  less  ecstatic  frame 
of  mind,  I  might  have  envied  the  homage  she  re 
ceived  from  all  the  men,  not  excepting  him  upon 
whose  arm  I  leaned.  Later,  there  was  no  one  in  the 
world  I  envied  less. 

The  ball  was  a  private  and  very  elegant  one. 
There  were  some  notable  guests.  One  gentleman  in 
particular  was  pointed  out  to  me  as  an  Englishman 
of  great  distinction  and  political  importance.  I 
thought  him  a  very  interesting  man  for  his  years, 
but  odd  and  a  trifle  self-centered.  Though  greatly 
courted,  he  seemed  strangely  restless  under  the  fire 
of  eyes  to  which  he  was  constantly  subjected,  and 
only  happy  when  free  to  use  his  own  in  contempla 
tion  of  the  scene  about  him.  Had  I  been  less  ab 
sorbed  in  my  own  happiness  I  might  have  noted 

7 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

sooner  than  I  did  that  this  contemplation  was  con 
fined  to  such  groups  as  gathered  about  the  lady  with 
the  diamond.  But  this  I  failed  to  observe  at  the 
time,  and  consequently  was  much  surprised  to  come 
upon  him,  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  dances,  talking 
with  this  lady  in  an  animated  and  courtly  manner 
totally  opposed  to  the  apathy,  amounting  to  bore 
dom,  with  which  he  had  hitherto  met  all  advances. 

Yet  it  was  not  admiration  for  her  person  which 
he  openly  displayed.  During  the  whole  time  he 
stood  there  his  eyes  seldom  rose  to  her  face;  they 
lingered  mainly — and  this  was  what  aroused  my 
curiosity — on  the  great  fan  of  ostrich  plumes  which 
this  opulent  beauty  held  against  her  breast.  Was 
he  desirous  of  seeing  the  great  diamond  she  thus 
unconsciously  (or  was  it  consciously)  shielded  from 
his  gaze?  It  was  possible,  for,  as  I  continued 
to  note  him,  he  suddenly  bent  toward  her  and  as 
quickly  raised  himself  again  with  a  look  which  was 
quite  inexplicable  to  me.  The  lady  had  shifted  her 
fan  a  moment  and  his  eyes  had  fallen  on  the  gem. 

The  next  thing  I  recall  with  any  definiteness  was 
8 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

a  tete-a-tcte  conversation  which  I  held  with  my  lover 
on  a  certain  yellow  divan  at  the  end  of  one  of  the 
halls. 

To  the  right  of  this  divan  rose  a  curtained  recess, 
highly  suggestive  of  romance,  called  "the  alcove." 
As  this  alcove  figures  prominently  in  my  story,  I 
will  pause  here  to  describe  it. 

It  was  originally  intended  to  contain  a  large 
group  of  statuary  which  our  host,  Mr.  Ramsdell, 
had  ordered  from  Italy  to  adorn  his  new  house.  He 
is  a  man  of  original  ideas  in  regard  to  such  matters, 
and  in  this  instance  had  gone  so  far  as  to  have  this 
end  of  the  house  constructed  with  a  special  view  to 
an  advantageous  display  of  this  promised  work  of 
art.  Fearing  the  ponderous  effect  of  a  pedestal 
large  enough  to  hold  such  a  considerable  group,  he 
had  planned  to  raise  it  to  the  level  of  the  eye  by 
having  the  alcove  floor  built  a  few  feet  higher  than 
the  main  one.  A  flight  of  low,  wide  steps  connected 
the  two,  which,  following  the  curve  of  the  wall,  add 
ed  much  to  the  beauty  of  this  portion  of  the  hall. 

The  group  was  a  failure  and  was  never  shipped ; 
9 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

but  the  alcove  remained,  and,  possessing  as  it  did 
all  the  advantages  of  a  room  in  the  way  of  heat  and 
light,  had  been  turned  into  a  miniature  retreat  of 
exceptional  beauty. 

The  seclusion  it  offered  extended,  or  so  we  were 
happy  to  think,  to  the  solitary  divan  at  its  base  on 
which  Mr.  Durand  and  I  were  seated.  With  possibly 
an  undue  confidence  in  the  advantage  of  our  posi 
tion,  we  were  discussing  a  subject  interesting  only 
to  ourselves,  when  Mr.  Durand  interrupted  himself 
to  declare:  "You  are  the  woman  I  want,  you  and 
you  only.  And  I  want  you  soon.  When  do  you 
think  you  can  marry  me?  Within  a  week — if 
—if—" 

Did  my  look  stop  him?  I  was  startled.  I  had 
heard  no  incoherent  phrase  from  him  before. 

"A  week !"  I  remonstrated.  "We  take  more  time 
than  that  to  fit  ourselves  for  a  journey  or  some 
transient  pleasure.  I  hardly  realize  my  engagement 

yet." 

"You  have  not  been  thinking  of  it  for  these  last 
two  months  as  I  have." 

10 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

"No,"  I  replied  demurely,  forgetting  everything 
else  in  my  delight  at  this  admission. 

"Nor  are  you  a  nomad  among  clubs  and  restau 
rants." 

"No,  I  have  a  home." 

"Nor  do  you  love  me  as  deeply  as  I  do  you." 

This  I  thought  open  to  argument. 

"The  home  you  speak  of  is  a  luxurious  one,"  he 
continued.  "I  can  not  offer  you  its  equal.  Do  you 
expect  me  to?" 

I  was  indignant. 

"You  know  that  I  do  not.  Shall  I,  who  delib 
erately  chose  a  nurse's  life  when  an  indulgent  uncle's 
heart  and  home  were  open  to  me,  shrink  from  brav 
ing  poverty  with  the  man  I  love?  We  will  begin  as 
simply  as  you  please — " 

"No,"  he  peremptorily  put  in,  yet  with  a  certain 
hesitancy  which  seemed  to  speak  of  doubts  he  hardly 
acknowledged  to  himself,  "I  will  not  marry  you  if  I 
must  expose  you  to  privation  or  to  the  genteel  pov 
erty  I  hate.  I  love  you  more  than  you  realize,  and 
wish  to  make  your  life  a  happy  one.  I  can  not  give 

11 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

you  all  you  have  been  accustomed  to  in  your  rich 
uncle's  house,  but  if  matters  prosper  with  me,  if  the 
chance  I  have  built  on  succeeds — and  it  will  fail  or 
succeed  to-night — you  will  have  those  comforts 
which  love  will  heighten  into  luxuries  and — and — " 

He  was  becoming  incoherent  again,  and  this  time 
with  his  eyes  fixed  elsewhere  than  on  my  face.  Fol 
lowing  his  gaze,  I  discovered  what  had  distracted 
his  attention.  The  lady  with  the  diamond  was  ap 
proaching  us  on  her  way  to  the  alcove.  She  was  ac 
companied  by  two  gentlemen,  both  strangers  to  me, 
and  her  head,  sparkling  with  brilliants,  was  turning 
from  one  to  the  other  with  an  indolent  grace.  I  was 
not  surprised  that  the  man  at  my  side  quivered  and 
made  a  start  as  if  to  rise.  She  was  a  gorgeous 
image.  In  comparison  with  her  imposing  figure  in 
its  trailing  robe  of  rich  pink  velvet,  my  diminutive 
frame  in  its  sea-green  gown  must  have  looked  as 
faded  and  colorless  as  a  half -obliterated  pastel. 

"A  striking  woman,"  I  remarked  as  I  saw  he  was 
not  likely  to  resume  the  conversation  which  her 
presence  had  interrupted.  "And  what  a  diamond !" 

12 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

The  glance  he  cast  me  was  peculiar. 

"Did  you  notice  it  particularly  ?"  he  asked. 

Astonished,  for  there  was  something  very  uneasy 
in  his  manner  so  that  I  half  expected  to  see  him 
rise  and  join  the  group  he  was  so  eagerly  watch 
ing  without  waiting  for  my  lips  to  frame  a  re 
sponse,  I  quickly  replied : 

"It  would  be  difficult  not  to  notice  what  one  would 
naturally  expect  to  see  only  on  the  breast  of  a 
queen.  But  perhaps  she  is  a  queen.  I  should  judge 
so  from  the  homage  which  follows  her." 

His  eyes  sought  mine.  There  was  inquiry  in 
them,  but  it  was  an  inquiry  I  did  not  understand. 

"What  can  you  know  about  diamonds  ?"  he  pres 
ently  demanded.  "Nothing  but  their  glitter,  and 
glitter  is  not  all, — the  gem  she  wears  may  be  a  very 
tawdry  one." 

I  flushed  with  humiliation.  He  was  a  dealer  in 
gems — that  was  his  business — and  the  check  which 
he  had  put  upon  my  enthusiasm  certainly  made  me 
conscious  of  my  own  presumption.  Yet  I  was  not 
disposed  to  take  back  my  words.  I  had  had  a  better 

18 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

opportunity  than  himself  for  seeing  this  remarkable 
jewel,  and,  with  the  perversity  of  a  somewhat 
ruffled  mood,  I  burst  forth,  as  soon  as  the  color  had 
subsided  from  my  cheeks : 

"No,  no!  It  is  glorious,  magnificent.  I  never 
saw  its  like.  I  doubt  if  you  ever  have,  for  all  your 
daily  acquaintance  with  jewels.  Its  value  must  be 
enormous.  Who  is  she?  You  seem  to  know  her." 

It  was  a  direct  question,  but  I  received  no  reply. 
Mr.  Durand's  eyes  had  followed  the  lady,  who  had 
lingered  somewhat  ostentatiously  on  the  top  step, 
and  they  did  not  return  to  me  till  she  had  vanished 
with  her  companions  behind  the  long  plush  curtains 
which  partly  veiled  the  entrance.  By  this  time  he 
had  forgotten  my  words,  if  he  had  ever  heard  them, 
and  it  was  with  the  forced  animation  of  one  whose 
thoughts  are  elsewhere  that  he  finally  returned  to 
the  old  plea : 

When  would  I  marry  him?  If  he  could  offer  me 
a  home  in  a  month — and  he  would  know  by  to-mor 
row  if  he  could  do  so — would  I  come  to  him  then? 
He  would  not  say  in  a  week ;  that  was  perhaps  too 

14 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

soon ;  but  in  a  month  ?  Would  I  not  promise  to  be 
his  in  a  month? 

What  I  answered  I  scarcely  recall.  His  eyes  had 
stolen  back  to  the  alcove  and  mine  had  followed 
them.  The  gentlemen  who  had  accompanied  the 
lady  inside  were  coming  out  again,  but  others  were 
advancing  to  take  their  places,  and  soon  she  was 
engaged  in  holding  a  regular  court  in  this  favored 
retreat. 

Why  should  this  interest  me?  Why  should  I 
notice  her  or  look  that  way  at  all?  Because  Mr. 
Durand  did?  Possibly.  I  remember  that  for  all  his 
ardent  love-making,  I  felt  a  little  piqued  that  he 
should  divide  his  attentions  in  this  way.  Perhaps  I 
thought  that  for  this  evening,  at  least,  he  might 
have  been  blind  to  a  mere  coquette's  fascinations. 

I  was  thus  doubly  engaged  in  listening  to  my 
lover's  words  and  in  watching  the  various  gentle 
men  who  went  up  and  down  the  steps,  when  a  for 
mer  partner  advanced  and  reminded  me  that  I  had 
promised  him  a  waltz.  Loath  to  leave  Mr.  Durand, 
yet  seeing  no  way  of  excusing  myself  to  Mr.  Fox, 

15 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

I  cast  an  appealing  glance  at  the  former  and  was 
greatly  chagrined  to  find  him  already  on  his  feet. 

"Enjoy  your  dance,"  he  cried;  "I  have  a  word  to 
say  to  Mrs.  Fairbrother,"  and  was  gone  before  my 
new  partner  had  taken  me  on  his  arm. 

Was  Mrs.  Fairbrother  the  lady  with  the  dia 
mond?  Yes;  as  I  turned  to  enter  the  parlor  with 
my  partner,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Durand's 
tall  figure  just  disappearing  from  the  step  behind 
the  sage-green  curtains. 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Fairbrother?"  I  inquired  of  Mr. 
Fox  at  the  end  of  the  dance. 

Mr.  Fox,  who  is  one  of  society's  perennial  beaux, 
knows  everybody. 

"She  is — well,  she  was  Abner  Fairbrother' s  wife. 
You  know  Fairbrother,  the  millionaire  who  built 
that  curious  structure  on  Eighty-sixth  Street.  At 
present  they  are  living  apart — an  amicable  under 
standing,  I  believe.  Her  diamond  makes  her  con 
spicuous.  It  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  stones 
in  New  York,  perhaps  in  the  United  States.  Have 
you  observed  it?" 

16 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

"Yes — that  is,  at  a  distance.  Do  you  think  her 
very  handsome  ?" 

"Mrs.  Fairbrother?  She's  called  so,  but  she's  not 
my  style."  Here  he  gave  me  a  killing  glance.  "I 
admire  women  of  mind  and  heart.  They  do  not  need 
to  wear  jewels  worth  an  ordinary  man's  fortune." 

I  looked  about  for  an  excuse  to  leave  this  none 
too  desirable  partner. 

"Let  us  go  back  into  the  long  hall,"  I  urged. 
"The  ceaseless  whirl  of  these  dancers  is  making  me 
dizzy." 

With  the  ease  of  a  gallant  man  he  took  me  on  his 
arm  and  soon  we  were  promenading  again  in  the 
direction  of  the  alcove.  A  passing  glimpse  of  its 
interior  was  afforded  me  as  we  turned  to  retrace 
our  steps  in  front  of  the  yellow  divan.  The  lady 
with  the  diamond  was  still  there.  A  fold  of  the 
superb  pink  velvet  she  wore  protruded  across  the 
gap  made  by  the  half-drawn  curtains,  just  as  it  had 
done  a  half-hour  before.  But  it  was  impossible  to 
see  her  face  or  who  was  with  her.  What  I  could  see, 
however,  and  did,  was  the  figure  of  a  man  leaning 

IT 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

against  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  At  first  I 
thought  this  person  unknown  to  me,  then  I  per 
ceived  that  he  was  no  other  than  the  chief  guest  of 
the  evening,  the  Englishman  of  whom  I  have  pre 
viously  spoken. 

His  expression  had  altered.  He  looked  now  both 
anxious  and  absorbed,  particularly  anxious  and  par 
ticularly  absorbed;  so  much  so  that  I  was  not  sur 
prised  that  no  one  ventured  to  approach  him. 
Again  I  wondered  and  again  I  asked  myself  for 
whom  or  for  what  he  was  waiting.  For  Mr.  Durand 
to  leave  this  lady's  presence?  No,  no,  I  would  not 
believe  that.  Mr.  Durand  could  not  be  there  still; 
yet  some  women  make  it  difficult  for  a  man  to  leave 
them  and,  realizing  this,  I  could  not  forbear  cast 
ing  a  parting  glance  behind  me  as,  yielding  to 
Mr.  Fox's  importunities,  I  turned  toward  the  sup 
per-room.  It  showed  me  the  Englishman  in  the 
act  of  lifting  two  cups  of  coffee  from  a  small 
table  standing  near  the  reception-room  door.  As 
his  manner  plainly  betokened  whither  he  was  bound 
with  this  refreshment,  I  felt  all  my  uneasiness  van- 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DIAMOND 

ish,  and  was  able  to  take  my  seat  at  one  of  the  small 
tables  with  which  the  supper-room  was  filled,  and 
for  a  few  minutes,  at  least,  lend  an  ear  to  Mr. 
Fox's  vapid  compliments  and  trite  opinions.  Then 
my  attention  wandered. 

I  had  not  moved  nor  had  I  shifted  my  gaze  from 
the  scene  before  me — the  ordinary  scene  of  a  gay 
and  well-filled  supper-room,  yet  I  found  myself 
looking,  as  if  through  a  mist  I  had  not  even  seen  de 
velop,  at  something  as  strange,  unusual  and  remote 
as  any  phantasm,  yet  distinct  enough  in  its  out 
lines  for  me  to  get  a  decided  impression  of  a  square 
of  light  surrounding  the  figure  of  a  man  in  a 
peculiar  pose  not  easily  imagined  and  not  easily 
described.  It  all  passed  in  an  instant,  and  I  sat 
staring  at  the  window  opposite  me  with  the  feeling 
of  one  who  has  just  seen  a  vision.  Yet  almost  imme 
diately  I  forgot  the  whole  occurrence  in  my  anxiety 
as  to  Mr.  Durand's  whereabouts.  Certainly  he  was 
amusing  himself  very  much  elsewhere  or  he  would 
have  found  an  opportunity  of  joining  me  long  be 
fore  this.  He  was  not  even  in  sight,  and  I  grew 

19 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

weary  of  the  endless  menu  and  the  senseless  chit 
chat  of  my  companion,  and,  finding  him  amenable 
to  my  whims,  rose  from  my  seat  at  table  and  made 
my  way  to  a  group  of  acquaintances  standing  just 
outside  the  supper-room  door.  As  I  listened  to  their 
greetings  some  impulse  led  me  to  cast  another 
glance  down  the  hall  toward  the  alcove.  A  man — a 
waiter — was  issuing  from  it  in  a  rush.  Bad  news 
was  in  his  face,  and  as  his  eyes  encountered  those 
of  Mr.  Ramsdell,  who  was  advancing  hurriedly  to 
meet  him,  he  plunged  down  the  steps  with  a  cry 
which  drew  a  crowd  about  the  two  in  an  instant. 

What  was  it  ?  What  had  happened  ? 

Mad  with  an  anxiety  I  did  not  stop  to  define,  I 
rushed  toward  this  group  now  swaying  from  side 
to  side  in  irrepressible  excitement,  when  suddenly 
everything  swam  before  me  and  I  fell  in  a  swoon  to 
the  floor. 

Some  one  had  shouted  aloud : 

"Mrs.  Fairbrother  has  been  murdered  and  her 
diamond  stolen !  Lock  the  doors !" 


n 


THE    GLOVES 


I  must  have  remained  insensible  for  many  min 
utes,  for  when  I  returned  to  full  consciousness  the 
supper-room  was  empty  and  the  two  hundred  guests 
I  had  left  seated  at  table  were  gathered  in  agitated 
groups  about  the  hall.  This  was  what  I  first  noted ; 
not  till  afterward  did  I  realize  my  own  situation. 
I  was  lying  on  a  couch  in  a  remote  corner  of  this 
same  hall  and  beside  me,  but  not  looking  at  me, 
stood  my  lover,  Mr.  Durand. 

How  he  came  to  know  my  state  and  find  me  in 
the  general  disturbance  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire. 
It  was  enough  for  me  at  that  moment  to  look  up 
and  see  him  so  near.  Indeed,  the  relief  was  so 
great,  the  sense  of  his  protection  so  comforting 
that  I  involuntarily  stretched  out  my  hand  in  grati 
tude  toward  him,  but,  failing  to  attract  his  atten 
tion,  slipped  to  the  floor  and  took  my  stand  at  his 

21 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

side.  This  roused  him  and  he  gave  me  a  look  which 
steadied  me,  in  spite  of  the  thrill  of  surprise  with 
which  I  recognized  his  extreme  pallor  and  a  certain 
peculiar  hesitation  in  his  manner  not  at  all  natural 
to  it 

Meanwhile,  some  words  uttered  near  us  were 
slowly  making  their  way  into  my  benumbed  brain. 
The  waiter  who  had  raised  the  first  alarm  was  en 
deavoring  to  describe  to  an  importunate  group  in 
advance  of  us  what  he  had  come  upon  in  that  mur 
derous  alcove. 

"I  was  carrying  about  a  tray  of  ices,"  he  was 
saying,  "and  seeing  the  lady  sitting  there,  went 
up.  I  had  expected  to  find  the  place  f  ull  of  gentle 
men,  but  she  was  all  alone,  and  did  not  move  as  I 
picked  my  way  over  her  long  train.  The  next  mo 
ment  I  had  dropped  ices,  tray  and  all.  I  had  come 
face  to  face  with  her  and  seen  that  she  was  dead. 
She  had  been  stabbed  and  robbed.  There  was  no 
diamond  on  her  breast,  but  there  was  blood." 

A  hubbub  of  disordered  sentences  seasoned  with 
horrified  cries  followed  this  simple  description. 

22 


THE    GLOVES 

Then  a  general  movement  took  place  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  alcove,  during  which  Mr.  Durand 
stooped  to  my  ear  and  whispered : 

"We  must  get  out  of  this.  You  are  not  strong 
enough  to  stand  such  excitement.  Don't  you  think 
we  can  escape  by  the  window  over  there?" 

"What,  without  wraps  and  in  such  a  snow 
storm?"  I  protested.  "Besides,  uncle  will  be  look 
ing  for  me.  He  came  with  me,  you  know." 

An  expression  of  annoyance,  or  was  it  perplex 
ity,  crossed  Mr.  Durand's  face,  and  he  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  leave  me. 

"I  must  go,"  he  began,  but  stopped  at  my 
glance  of  surprise  and  assumed  a  different  air — 
one  which  became  him  very  much  better.  "Pardon 
me,  dear,  I  will  take  you  to  your  uncle.  This — this 
dreadful  tragedy,  interrupting  so  gay  a  scene,  has 
quite  upset  me.  I  was  always  sensitive  to  the  sight, 
the  smell,  even  to  the  very  mention  of  the  word 
blood." 

So  was  I,  but  not  to  the  point  of  cowardice.  But 
then  I  had  not  just  come  from  an  interview  with  the 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

murdered  woman.  Her  glances,  her  smiles,  the  lift 
of  her  eyebrows  were  not  fresh  memories  to  me. 
Some  consideration  was  certainly  due  him  for  the 
shock  he  must  be  laboring  under.  Yet  I  did  not 
know  how  to  keep  back  the  vital  question. 

"Who  did  it?  You  must  have  heard  some  one 
say." 

"I  have  heard  nothing,"  was  his  somewhat  fierce 
rejoinder.  Then,  as  I  made  a  move,  "What!  You 
do  not  wish  to  follow  the  crowd  there?" 

"I  wish  to  find  my  uncle,  and  he  is  in  that  crowd." 

Mr.  Durand  said  nothing  further,  and  together 
we  passed  down  the  hall.  A  strange  mood  pervaded 
my  mind.  Instead  of  wishing  to  fly  a  scene  which 
under  ordinary  conditions  would  have  filled  me  with 
utter  repugnance,  I  felt  a  desire  to  see  and  hear 
everything.  Not  from  curiosity,  such  as  moved 
most  of  the  people  about  me,  but  because  of  some 
strong  instinctive  feeling  I  could  not  understand; 
as  if  it  were  my  heart  which  had  been  struck,  and 
my  fate  which  was  trembling  in  the  balance. 

We  were  consequently  among  the  first  to  hear 
24 


THE    GLOVES 

such  further  details  as  were  allowed  to  circulate 
among  the  now  well-nigh  frenzied  guests.  No  one 
knew  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed  nor  did  there  ap 
pear  to  be  any  direct  evidence  calculated  to  fix  his 
identity.  Indeed,  the  sudden  death  of  this  beautiful 
woman  in  the  midst  of  festivity  might  have  been 
looked  upon  as  suicide,  if  the  jewel  had  not  been 
missing  from  her  breast  and  the  instrument  of 
death  removed  from  the  wound.  So  far,  the  casual 
search  which  had  been  instituted  had  failed  to  pro 
duce  this  weapon ;  but  the  police  would  be  here  soon 
and  then  something  would  be  done.  As  to  the  means 
of  entrance  employed  by  the  assassin,  there  seemed 
to  be  but  one  opinion.  The  alcove  contained  a  win 
dow  opening  upon  a  small  balcony.  By  this  he  had 
doubtless  entered  and  escaped.  The  long  plush  cur 
tains  which,  during  the  early  part  of  the  evening, 
had  remained  looped  back  on  either  side  of  the  case 
ment,  were  found  at  the  moment  of  the  crime's  dis 
covery  closely  drawn  together.  Certainly  a  sus 
picious  circumstance.  However,  the  question  was 
one  easily  settled.  If  any  one  had  approached  by 

25 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

the  balcony  there  would  be  marks  in  the  snow  to 
show  it.  Mr.  Ramsdell  had  gone  out  to  see.  He 
would  be  coming  back  soon. 

"Do  you  think  this  a  probable  explanation  of  the 
crime?"  I  demanded  of  Mr.  Durand  at  this  junc 
ture.  "If  I  remember  rightly  this  window  over 
looks  the  carriage  drive;  it  must,  therefore,  be 
within  plain  sight  of  the  door  through  which  some 
three  hundred  guests  have  passed  to-night.  How 
could  any  one  climb  to  such  a  height,  lift  the  win 
dow  and  step  in  without  being  seen  ?" 

"You  forget  the  awning."  He  spoke  quickly  and 
with  unexpected  vivacity.  "The  awning  runs  up 
very  near  this  window  and  quite  shuts  it  off  from 
the  sight  of  arriving  guests.  The  drivers  of  de 
parting  carriages  could  see  it  if  they  chanced  to 
glance  back.  But  their  eyes  are  usually  on  their 
horses  in  such  a  crowd.  The  probabilities  are 
against  any  of  them  having  looked  up."  His 
brow  had  cleared;  a  weight  seemed  removed  from 
his  mind.  "When  I  went  into  the  alcove  to  see  Mrs. 
Fairbrother,  she  was  sitting  in  a  chair  near  this 

26 


THE    GLOVES 

window  looking  out.  I  remember  the  effect  of  her 
splendor  against  the  snow  sifting  down  in  a  steady 
stream  behind  her.  The  pink  velvet — the  soft 
green  of  the  curtains  on  either  side — her  brilliants 
— and  the  snow  for  a  background!  Yes,  the  mur 
derer  came  in  that  way.  Her  figure  would  be  plain 
to  any  one  outside,  and  if  she  moved  and  the  dia 
mond  shone —  Don't  you  see  what  a  probable  theory 
it  is?  There  must  be  ways  by  which  a  desperate 
man  might  reach  that  balcony.  I  believe — " 

How  eager  he  was  and  with  what  a  look  he  turned 
when  the  word  came  filtering  through  the  crowd 
that,  though  footsteps  had  been  found  in  the  snow 
pointing  directly  toward  the  balcony,  there  was 
none  on  the  balcony  itself,  proving,  as  any  one 
could  see,  that  the  attack  had  not  come  from  with 
out,  since  no  one  could  enter  the  alcove  by  the  win 
dow  without  stepping  on  the  balcony. 

"Mr.  Durand  has  suspicions  of  his  own,"  I  ex 
plained  determinedly  to  myself.  "He  met  some  one 
going  in  as  he  stepped  out.  Shall  I  ask  him  to 
name  this  person  ?"  No,  I  did  not  have  the  courage ; 

27 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

not  while  his  face  wore  so  stern  a  look  and  was  so 
resolutely  turned  away. 

The  next  excitement  was  a  request  from  Mr. 
Ramsdell  for  us  all  to  go  into  the  drawing-room. 
This  led  to  various  cries  from  hysterical  lips,  such 
as,  "We  are  going  to  be  searched !"  "  He  believes 
the  thief  and  murderer  to  be  still  in  the  house !" 
"Do  you  see  the  diamond  on  me?"  "Why  don't 
they  confine  their  suspicions  to  the  favored  few 
who  were  admitted  to  the  alcove  ?" 

"They  will,"  remarked  some  one  close  to  my  ear. 

But  quickly  as  I  turned  I  could  not  guess  from 
whom  the  comment  came.  Possibly  from  a  much- 
beflowered,  bejeweled,  elderly  dame,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Mr.  Durand's  averted  face.  If  so, 
she  received  a  defiant  look  from  mine,  which  I  do 
not  believe  she  forgot  in  a  hurry. 

Alas!  it  was  not  the  only  curious,  I  might  say 
searching  glance  I  surprised  directed  against  him 
as  we  made  our  way  to  where  I  could  see  my  uncle 
struggling  to  reach  us  from  a  short  side  hall.  The 
whisper  seemed  to  have  gone  about  that  Mr.  Du- 

28 


THE    GLOVES 

rand  had  been  the  last  one  to  converse  with  Mrs. 
Fair-brother  prior  to  the  tragedy. 

In  time  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  joining  my 
uncle.  He  betrayed  great  relief  at  the  sight  of  me, 
and,  encouraged  by  his  kindly  smile,  I  introduced 
Mr.  Durand.  My  conscious  air  must  have  pro 
duced  its  impression,  for  he  turned  a  startled  and 
inquiring  look  upon  my  companion,  then  took  me 
resolutely  on  his  own  arm,  saying: 

"There  is  likely  to  be  some  unpleasantness  ahead 
for  all  of  us.  I  do  not  think  the  police  will  allow 
any  one  to  go  till  that  diamond  has  been  looked  for. 
This  is  a  very  serious  matter,  dear.  So  many  think 
the  murderer  was  one  of  the  guests." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  I.  But  why  I  thought  so 
or  why  I  should  say  so  with  such  vehemence,  I  do 
not  know  even  now. 

My  uncle  looked  surprised. 

"You  had  better  not  advance  any  opinions,"  he 
advised.  "A  lady  like  yourself  should  have  none 
on  a  subject  so  gruesome.  I  shall  never  cease  re 
gretting  bringing  you  here  to-night.  I  shall  seize 

29 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

on  the  first  opportunity  to  take  you  home.  At 
present  we  are  supposed  to  await  the  action  of  our 
host." 

"He  can  not  keep  all  these  people  here  long,"  I 
ventured. 

"No ;  most  of  us  will  be  relieved  soon.  Had  you 
not  better  get  your  wraps  so  as  to  be  ready  to  go 
as  soon  as  he  gives  the  word?" 

"I  should  prefer  to  have  a  peep  at  the  people  in 
the  drawing-room  first,"  was  my  perverse  reply. 
"I  don't  know  why  I  want  to  see  them,  but  I  do; 
and,  uncle,  I  might  as  well  tell  you  now  that  I  en 
gaged  myself  to  Mr.  Durand  this  evening — the 
gentleman  with  me  when  you  first  came  up." 

"You  have  engaged  yourself  to — to  this  man — 
to  marry  him,  do  you  mean  ?" 

I  nodded,  with  a  sly  look  behind  to  see  if  Mr. 
Durand  were  near  enough  to  hear.  He  was  not, 
and  I  allowed  my  enthusiasm  to  escape  in  a  few 
quick  words. 

"He  has  chosen  me,"  I  said,  "the  plainest,  most 
uninteresting  puss  in  the  whole  city."  My  uncle 

30 


THE    GLOVES 

smiled.   "And  I  believe  he  loves  me ;  at  all  events,  I 
know  that  I  love  him." 

My  uncle  sighed,  while  giving  me  the  most  af 
fectionate  of  glances. 

"It's  a  pity  you  should  have  come  to  this  under 
standing  to-night,"  said  he.  "He's  an  acquaint 
ance  of  the  murdered  woman,  and  it  is  only  right 
for  you  to  know  that  you  will  have  to  leave  him  be 
hind  when  you  start  for  home.  All  who  have  been 
seen  entering  that  alcove  this  evening  will  neces 
sarily  be  detained  here  till  the  coroner  arrives." 

My  uncle  and  I  strolled  toward  the  drawing- 
room  and  as  we  did  so  we  passed  the  library.  It 
held  but  one  occupant,  the  Englishman.  He  was 
seated  before  a  table,  and  his  appearance  was  such 
as  precluded  any  attempt  at  intrusion,  even  if  one 
had  been  so  disposed.  There  was  a  fixity  in  his  gaze 
and  a  frown  on  his  powerful  forehead  which  be 
spoke  a  mind  greatly  agitated.  It  was  not  for  me 
to  read  that  mind,  much  as  it  interested  me,  and  I 
passed  on,  chatting,  as  if  I  had  not  the  least  desire 
to  stop. 

31 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

I  can  not  say  how  much  time  elapsed  before  my 
uncle  touched  me  on  the  arm  with  the  remark : 

"The  police  are  here  in  full  force.  I  saw  a  de 
tective  in  plain  clothes  look  in  here  a  minute  ago. 
He  seemed  to  have  his  eye  on  you.  There  he  is 
again!  What  can  he  want?  No,  don't  turn;  he's 
gone  away  now." 

Frightened  as  I  had  never  been  in  all  my  life, 
I  managed  to  keep  my  head  up  and  maintain  an  in 
different  aspect.  What,  as  my  uncle  said,  could  a 
detective  want  of  me?  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  crime;  not  in  the  remotest  way  could  I  be  said 
to  be  connected  with  it;  why,  then,  had  I  caught 
the  attention  of  the  police?  Looking  about,  I 
sought  Mr.  Durand.  He  had  left  me  on  my  uncle's 
coming  up,  but  had  remained,  as  I  supposed,  within 
sight.  But  at  this  moment  he  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  Was  I  afraid  on  his  account?  Impossible; 

yet— 

Happily  just  then  the  word  was  passed  about 
that  the  police  had  given  orders  that,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  such  as  had  been  requested  to  remain  to 

32 


THE    GLOVES 

answer  questions,  the  guests  generally  should  feel 
themselves  at  liberty  to  depart. 

The  time  had  now  come  to  take  a  stand  and  I  in 
formed  my  uncle,  to  his  evident  chagrin,  that  I 
should  not  leave  as  long  as  any  excuse  could  be 
found  for  staying. 

He  said  nothing  at  the  time,  but  as  the  noise  of 
departing  carriages  gradually  lessened  and  the 
great  hall  and  drawing-rooms  began  to  wear  a  look 
of  desertion  he  at  last  ventured  on  this  gentle  pro 
test: 

"You  have  more  pluck,  Rita,  than  I  supposed. 
Do  you  think  it  wise  to  stay  on  here?  Will  not 
people  imagine  that  you  have  been  requested  to  do 
so?  Look  at  those  waiters  hanging  about  in  the 
different  doorways.  Run  up  and  put  on  your  wraps. 
Mr.  Durand  will  come  to  the  house  fast  enough  as 
soon  as  he  is  released.  I  give  you  leave  to  sit  up 
for  him  if  you  will ;  only  let  us  leave  this  place — 
before  that  impertinent  little  man  dares  to  come 
around  again,"  he  artfully  added. 

But  I  stood  firm,  though  somewhat  moved  by  his 
33 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

final  suggestion;  and,  being  a  small  tyrant  in  my 
way,  at  least  with  him,  I  carried  my  point. 

Suddenly  my  anxiety  became  poignant.  A  party 
of  men,  among  whom  I  saw  Mr.  Durand,  appeared 
at  the  end  of  the  hall,  led  by  a  very  small  but  self- 
important  personage  whom  my  uncle  immediately 
pointed  out  as  the  detective  who  had  twice  come  to 
the  door  near  which  I  stood.  As  this  man  looked  up 
and  saw  me  still  there,  a  look  of  relief  crossed  his 
face,  and,  after  a  word  or  two  with  another  stranger 
of  seeming  authority,  he  detached  himself  from  the 
group  he  had  ushered  upon  the  scene,  and,  ap 
proaching  me  respectfully  enough,  said  with  a 
deprecatory  glance  at  my  uncle  whose  frown  he 
doubtless  understood: 

"Miss  Van  Arsdale,  I  believe?" 

I  nodded,  too  choked  to  speak. 

"I  am  sorry,  Madam,  if  you  were  expecting  to 
go.  Inspector  Dalzell  has  arrived  and  would  like  to 
speak  to  you.  Will  you  step  into  one  of  these 
rooms?  Not  the  library,  but  any  other.  He  will 
come  to  you  as  quickly  as  he  can." 

34 


THE    GLOVES 

I  tried  to  carry  it  off  bravely  and  as  if  I  saw 
nothing  in  this  summons  which  was  unique  or 
alarming.  But  I  succeeded  only  in  dividing  a  waver 
ing  glance  between  him  and  the  group  of  men  of 
which  he  had  just  formed  a  part.  In  the  latter  were 
several  gentlemen  whom  I  had  noted  in  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother's  train  early  in  the  evening  and  a  few 
strangers,  two  of  whom  were  officials.  Mr.  Durand 
was  with  the  former,  and  his  expression  did  not  en 
courage  me. 

"The  affair  is  very  serious,"  commented  the  de 
tective  on  leaving  me.  "That's  our  excuse  for  any 
trouble  we  may  be  putting  you  to." 

I  clutched  my  uncle's  arm. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  I  asked.  "The  drawing- 
room  is  too  large.  In  this  hall  my  eyes  are  for  ever 
traveling  in  the  direction  of  the  alcove.  Don't  you 
know  some  little  room?  Oh,  what,  what  can  he  want 
of  me?" 

"Nothing  serious,  nothing  important,"  blustered 
mJ  good  uncle.  "Some  triviality  such  as  you  can 
answer  in  a  moment.  A  little  room?  Yes,  I  know 

85 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

one,  there,  under  the  stairs.  Come,  I  will  find  the 
door  for  you.  Why  did  we  ever  come  to  this 
wretched  ball?" 

I  had  no  answer  for  this.    Why,  indeed ! 

My  uncle,  who  is  a  very  patient  man,  guided  me 
to  the  place  he  had  picked  out,  without  adding  a 
word  to  the  ejaculation  in  which  he  had  just  allowed 
his  impatience  to  expend  itself.  But  once  seated 
within,  and  out  of  the  range  of  peering  eyes  and 
listening  ears,  he  allowed  a  sigh  to  escape  him 
which  expressed  the  fullness  of  his  agitation. 

"My  dear,"  he  began,  and  stopped.  "I  feel — " 
here  he  again  came  to  a  pause — "that  you  should 
know — " 

"What?"  I  managed  to  ask. 

"That  I  do  not  like  Mr.  Durand  and — that  others 
do  not  like  him." 

"Is  it  because  of  something  you  knew  about  him 
before  to-night?" 

He  made  no  answer. 

"Or  because  he  was  seen,  like  many  other  gen 
tlemen,  talking  with  that  woman  some  time  before 

36 


THE    GLOVES 

— a  long  time  before — she  was  attacked  for  her 
diamond  and  murdered?" 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear,  he  was  the  last  one  seen 
talking  to  her.  Some  one  may  yet  be  found  who 
went  in  after  he  came  out,  but  as  yet  he  is  consid 
ered  the  last.  Mr.  Ramsdell  himself  told  me  so." 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  I  exclaimed,  in  all  the 
heat  of  my  long-suppressed  agitation.  "I  am  will 
ing  to  stake  my  life  on  his  integrity  and  honor. 
No  man  could  talk  to  me  as  he  did  early  this  even 
ing  with  any  vile  intentions  at  heart.  He  was  in 
terested,  no  doubt,  like  many  others,  in  one  who  had 
the  name  of  being  a  captivating  woman,  but — " 

I  paused  in  sudden  alarm.  A  look  had  crossed 
my  uncle's  face  which  assured  me  that  we  were  no 
longer  alone.  Who  could  have  entered  so  silently? 
In  some  trepidation  I  turned  to  see.  A  gentleman 
was  standing  in  the  doorway,  who  smiled  as  I  met 
his  eye. 

"Is  this  Miss  Van  Arsdale?"  he  asked. 

Instantly  my  courage,  which  had  threatened  to 
leave  me,  returned  and  I  smiled. 

37 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"I  am,"  said  I.    "Are  you  the  inspector?" 

"Inspector  Dalzell,"  he  explained  with  a  bow, 
which  included  my  uncle. 

Then  he  closed  the  door. 

"I  hope  I  have  not  frightened  you,"  he  went  on, 
approaching  me  with  a  gentlemanly  air.  "A  little 
matter  has  come  up  concerning  which  I  mean  to  be 
perfectly  frank  with  you.  It  may  prove  to  be  of 
trivial  importance;  if  so,  you  will  pardon  my  dis 
turbing  you.  Mr.  Durand — you  know  him  ?" 

"I  am  engaged  to  him,"  I  declared  before  poor 
uncle  could  raise  his  hand. 

"You  are  engaged  to  him.  Well,  that  makes  it 
difficult,  and  yet,  in  some  respects,  easier  for  me  to 
ask  a  certain  question." 

It  must  have  made  it  more  difficult  than  easy,  for 
he  did  not  proceed  to  put  this  question  immediately, 
but  went  on : 

"You  know  that  Mr.  Durand  visited  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother  in  the  alcove  a  little  while  before  her 

death?" 

"I  have  been  told  so." 

38 


THE    GLOVES 

"He  was  seen  to  go  in,  but  I  have  not  yet  found 
any  one  who  saw  him  come  out;  consequently  we 
have  been  unable  to  fix  the  exact  minute  when  he 
did  so.  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Van  Arsdale? 
You  want  to  say  something?" 

"No,  no,"  I  protested,  reconsidering  my  first  im 
pulse.  Then,  as  I  met  his  look,  "He  can  probably 
tell  you  that  himself.  I  am  sure  he  would  not  hesi 
tate." 

"We  shall  ask  him  later,"  was  the  inspector's  re 
sponse.  "Meanwhile,  are  you  ready  to  assure  me 
that  since  that  time  he  has  not  intrusted  you  with 
a  little  article  to  keep —  No,  no,  I  do  not  mean  the 
diamond,"  he  broke  in,  in  very  evident  dismay,  as 
I  fell  back  from  him  in  irrepressible  indignation 
and  alarm.  "The  diamond — well,  we  shall  look  for 
that  later;  it  is  another  article  we  are  in  search  of 
now,  one  which  Mr.  Durand  might  very  well  have 
taken  in  his  hand  without  realizing  just  what  he 
was  doing.  As  it  is  important  for  us  to  find  this 
article,  and  as  it  is  one  he  might  very  naturally 
have  passed  over  to  you  when  he  found  himself  in 

39 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

the  hall  with  it  in  his  hand,  I  have  ventured  to  ask 
you  if  this  surmise  is  correct." 

"It  is  not,"  I  retorted  fiercely,  glad  that  I  could 
speak  from  my  very  heart.  "He  has  given  me  noth 
ing  to  keep  for  him.  He  would  not — " 

Why  that  peculiar  look  in  the  inspector's  eye? 
Why  did  he  reach  out  for  a  chair  and  seat  me  in  it 
before  he  took  up  my  interrupted  sentence  and 
finished  it? 

" — would  not  give  you  anything  to  hold  which 
had  belonged  to  another  woman?  Miss  Van  Ars- 
dale,  you  do  not  know  men.  They  do  many  things 
which  a  young,  trusting  girl  like  yourself  would 
hardly  expect  from  them." 

"Not  Mr.  Durand,"  I  maintained  stoutly. 

"Perhaps  not;  let  us  hope  not."  Then,  with  a 
quick  change  of  manner,  he  bent  toward  me,  with  a 
sidelong  look  at  uncle,  and,  pointing  to  my  gloves, 
remarked:  "You  wear  gloves.  Did  you  feel  the 
need  of  two  pairs,  that  you  carry  another  in  that 
pretty  bag  hanging  from  your  arm?" 

I  started,  looked  down,  and  then  slowly  drew  up 
40 


THE    GLOVES 

into  my  hand  the  bag  he  had  mentioned.  The  white 
finger  of  a  glove  was  protruding  from  the  top. 
Any  one  could  see  it;  many  probably  had.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  I  had  brought  no  extra  pair  with  me. 

"This  is  not  mine,"  I  began,  faltering  into  si 
lence  as  I  perceived  my  uncle  turn  and  walk  a  step 
or  two  away. 

"The  article  we  are  looking  for,"  pursued  the 
inspector,  "is  a  pair  of  long,  white  gloves,  sup 
posed  to  have  been  worn  by  Mrs.  Fairbrother  when 
she  entered  the  alcove.  Do  you  mind  showing  me 
those,  a  finger  of  which  I  see?" 

I  dropped  the  bag  into  his  hand.  The  room  and 
everything  in  it  was  whirling  around  me.  But  when 
I  noted  what  trouble  it  was  to  his  clumsy  fingers  to 
open  it,  my  senses  returned  and,  reaching  for  the 
bag,  I  pulled  it  open  and  snatched  out  the  gloves. 
They  had  been  hastily  rolled  up  and  some  of  the 
fingers  were  showing. 

"Let  me  have  them,"  he  said. 

With  quaking  heart  and  shaking  fingers  I  handed 
over  the  gloves. 

41 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Mrs.  Fairbrother's  hand  was  not  a  small  one," 
he  observed  as  he  slowly  unrolled  them.  "Yours  is. 
We  can  soon  tell — " 

But  that  sentence  was  never  finished.  As  the 
gloves  fell  open  in  his  grasp  he  uttered  a  sudden, 
sharp  ejaculation  and  I  a  smothered  shriek.  An 
object  of  superlative  brilliancy  had  rolled  out  from 
them.  The  diamond!  the  gem  which  men  said  was 
worth  a  king's  ransom,  and  which  we  all  knew  had 
just  cost  a  life. 


m 


ANSON 

With  benumbed  senses  and  a  dismayed  heart,  I 
stared  at  the  fallen  jewel  as  at  some  hateful  thing 
menacing  both  my  life  and  honor. 

"I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  I  vehemently 
declared.  "I  did  not  put  the  gloves  in  my  bag,  nor 
did  I  know  the  diamond  was  in  them.  I  fainted  at 
the  first  alarm,  and — " 

"There !  there !  I  know,"  interposed  the  inspector 
kindly.  "I  do  not  doubt  you  in  the  least ;  not  when 
there  is  a  man  to  doubt.  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  you 
had  better  let  your  uncle  take  you  home.  I  will  see 
that  the  hall  is  cleared  for  you.  To-morrow  I  may 
wish  to  talk  to  you  again,  but  I  will  spare  you  all 
further  importunity  to-night." 

I  shook  my  head.  It  would  require  more  courage 
to  leave  at  that  moment  than  to  stay.  Meeting  the 
inspector's  eye  firmly,  I  quietly  declared, 

43 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"If  Mr.  Durand's  good  name  is  to  suffer  in  any 
way,  I  will  not  forsake  him.  I  have  confidence  in 
his  integrity,  if  you  have  not.  It  was  not  his  hand, 
but  one  much  more  guilty,  which  dropped  this  jewel 
into  the  bag." 

"So !  so !  do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,  little  woman. 
You  had  better  take  your  lesson  at  once.  It  will  be 
easier  for  you,  and  more  wholesome  for  him." 

Here  he  picked  up  the  jewel. 

"Well,  they  said  it  was  a  wonder !"  he  exclaimed, 
in  his  sudden  admiration.  "I  am  not  surprised,  now 
that  I  have  seen  a  great  gem,  at  the  famous  stories 
I  have  read  of  men  risking  life  and  honor  for  their 
possession.  If  only  no  blood  had  been  shed !" 

"Uncle !  uncle !"  I  wailed  aloud  in  my  agony. 

It  was  all  my  lips  could  utter,  but  to  uncle  it  was 
enough.  Speaking  for  the  first  time,  he  asked 
to  have  a  passage  made  for  us,  and  when  the  in 
spector  moved  forward  to  comply,  he  threw  his  arm 
about  me,  and  was  endeavoring  to  find  fitting  words 
with  which  to  fill  up  the  delay,  when  a  short  alter 
cation  was  heard  from  the  doorway,  and  Mr.  Du- 

44 


ANSON    DURAND 

rand  came  rushing  in,  followed  immediately  by  the 
inspector. 

His  first  look  was  not  at  myself,  but  at  the  bag, 
which  still  hung  from  my  arm.  As  I  noted  this 
action,  my  whole  inner  self  seemed  to  collapse, 
dragging  my  happiness  down  with  it.  But  my 
countenance  remained  unchanged,  too  much  so,  it 
seems ;  for  when  his  eye  finally  rose  to  my  face,  he 
found  there  what  made  him  recoil  and  turn  with 
something  like  fierceness  on  his  companion. 

"You  have  been  talking  to  her,"  he  vehemently 
protested.  "Perhaps  you  have  gone  further  than 
that.  What  has  happened  here  ?  I  think  I  ought  to 
know.  She  is  so  guileless,  Inspector  Dalzell ;  so  per 
fectly  free  from  all  connection  with  this  crime. 
Why  have  you  shut  her  up  here,  and  plied  her  with 
questions,  and  made  her  look  at  me  with  such  an 
expression,  when  all  you  have  against  me  is  just 
what  you  have  against  some  half-dozen  others, — 
that  I  was  weak  enough,  or  unfortunate  enough,  to 
spend  a  few  minutes  with  that  unhappy  woman  in 
the  alcove  before  she  died  ?" 

45 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"It  might  be  well  if  Miss  Van  Arsdale  herself 
would  answer  you,"  was  the  inspector's  quiet  re 
tort.  "What  you  have  said  may  constitute  all  that 
we  have  against  you,  but  it  is  not  all  we  have 
against  her." 

I  gasped,  not  so  much  at  this  seeming  accusation, 
the  motive  of  which  I  believed  myself  to  under 
stand,  but  at  the  burning  blush  with  which  it  was 
received  by  Mr.  Durand. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  demanded,  with  certain 
odd  breaks  in  his  voice.  "What  can  you  have 
against  her?" 

"A  triviality,"  returned  the  inspector,  with  a 
look  in  my  direction  that  was,  I  felt,  not  to  be  mis 
taken. 

"I  do  not  call  it  a  triviality,"  I  burst  out.  "It 
seems  that  Mrs.  Fairbrother,  for  all  her  elaborate 
toilet,  was  found  without  gloves  on  her  arms.  As 
she  certainly  wore  them  on  entering  the  alcove,  the 
police  have  naturally  been  looking  for  them.  And 
where  do  you  think  they  have  found  them?  Not  in 
the  alcove  with  her,  not  in  the  possession  of  the 

46 


ANSON    DURAND 

man  who  undoubtedly  carried  them  away  with  him, 
but—" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  Mr.  Durand  hoarsely  put  in. 
"You  need  not  say  any  more.  Oh,  my  poor  Rita ! 
what  have  I  brought  upon  you  by  my  weakness?" 

"Weakness!" 

He  started;  I  started;  my  voice  was  totally  un 
recognizable. 

"I  should  give  it  another  name,"  I  added  coldly. 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  to  lose  heart,  then  he 
lifted  his  head  again,  and  looked  as  handsome  as 
when  he  pleaded  for  my  hand  in  the  little  conserva 
tory. 

"You  have  that  right,"  said  he;  "besides,  weak 
ness  at  such  a  time,  and  under  such  an  exigency,  is 
little  short  of  wrong.  It  was  unmanly  in  me  to  en 
deavor  to  secrete  these  gloves ;  more  than  unmanly 
for  me  to  choose  for  their  hiding-place  the  recesses 
of  an  article  belonging  exclusively  to  yourself.  I 
acknowledge  it,  Rita,  and  shall  meet  only  my  just 
punishment  if  you  deny  me  in  the  future  both  your 
sympathy  and  regard.  But  you  must  let  me  assure 

47 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

you  and  these  gentlemen  also,  one  of  whom  can 
make  it  very  unpleasant  for  me,  that  consideration 
for  you,  much  more  than  any  miserable  anxiety 
about  myself,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  what  must  strike 
you  all  as  an  act  of  unpardonable  cowardice.  From 
the  moment  I  learned  of  this  woman's  murder  in  the 
alcove,  where  I  had  visited  her,  I  realized  that  every 
one  who  had  been  seen  to  approach  her  within  a 
half -hour  of  her  death  would  be  subjected  to  a  more 
or  less  rigid  investigation,  and  I  feared,  if  her 
gloves  were  found  in  my  possession,  some  special 
attention  might  be  directed  my  way  which  would 
cause  you  unmerited  distress.  So,  yielding  to  an 
impulse  which  I  now  recognize  as  a  most  unwise,  as 
well  as  unworthy  one,  I  took  advantage  of  the 
bustle  about  us,  and  of  the  insensibility  into  which 
you  had  fallen,  to  tuck  these  miserable  gloves  into 
the  bag  I  saw  lying  on  the  floor  at  your  side.  I  do 
not  ask  your  pardon.  My  whole  future  life  shall  be 
devoted  to  winning  that;  I  simply  wish  to  state  a 
fact." 

"Very  good !"    It  was  the  inspector  who  spoke ; 

48 


ANSON    DURAND 

I  could  not  have  uttered  a  word  to  save  my  life. 
"Perhaps  you  will  now  feel  that  you  owe  it  to  this 
young  lady  to  add  how  you  came  to  have  these 
gloves  in  your  possession?" 

"Mrs.  Fairbrother  handed  them  to  me." 

"Handed  them  to  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  hardly  know  why  myself.  She  asked  me 
to  take  care  of  them  for  her.  I  know  that  this  must 
strike  you  as  a  very  peculiar  statement.  It  was  my 
realization  of  the  unfavorable  effect  it  could  not  fail 
to  produce  upon  those  who  heard  it,  which  made  me 
dread  any  interrogation  on  the  subject.  But  I  as 
sure  you  it  was  as  I  say.  She  put  the  gloves  into 
my  hand  while  I  was  talking  to  her,  saying  they  in 
commoded  her." 

"And  you?" 

"Well,  I  held  them  for  a  few  minutes,  then  I  put 
them  in  my  pocket,  but  quite  automatically,  and 
without  thinking  very  much  about  it.  She  was  a 
woman  accustomed  to  have  her  own  way.  People 
seldom  questioned  it,  I  judge." 

Here  the  tension  about  my  throat  relaxed,  and  I 

49 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

opened  my  lips  to  speak.  But  the  inspector,  with  a 
glance  of  some  authority,  forestalled  me. 

"Were  the  gloves  open  or  rolled  up  when  she 
offered  them  to  you  ?" 

"They  were  roUed  up." 

"Did  you  see  her  take  them  off?'* 

"Assuredly." 

"And  roll  them  up?" 

"Certainly." 

"After  which  she  passed  them  over  to  you  ?" 

"Not  immediately.  She  let  them  lie  in  her  lap  for 
a  while." 

"While  you  talked?" 

Mr.  Durand  bowed. 

"And  looked  at  the  diamond?" 

Mr.  Durand  bowed  for  the  second  time. 

"Had  you  ever  seen  so  fine  a  diamond  before?" 

"No." 

"Yet  you  deal  in  precious  stones  ?" 

"That  is  my  business." 

"And  are  regarded  as  a  judge  of  them?" 

"I  have  that  reputation." 
50 


ANSON   DURAND 

"Mr.  Durand,  would  you  know  this  diamond  if 
you  saw  it?" 

"I  certainly  should." 

"The  setting  was  an  uncommon  one,  I  hear." 

"Quite  an  unusual  one." 

The  inspector  opened  his  hand. 

"Is  this  the  article?" 

"Good  God!  Where—" 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"I  do  not." 

The  inspector  eyed  him  gravely. 

"Then  I  have  a  bit  of  news  for  you.  It  was  hid 
den  in  the  gloves  you  took  from  Mrs.  Fairbrother. 
Miss  Van  Arsdale  was  present  at  their  unrolling." 

Do  we  live,  move,  breathe  at  certain  moments? 
It  hardly  seems  so.  I  know  that  I  was  conscious  of 
but  one  sense,  that  of  seeing ;  and  of  but  one  fac 
ulty,  that  of  judgment.  Would  he  flinch,  break 
down,  betray  guilt,  or  simply  show  astonishment? 
I  chose  to  believe  it  was  the  latter  feeling  only 
which  informed  his  slowly  whitening  and  disturbed 
features.  Certainly  it  was  all  his  words  expressed, 

51 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

as  his  glances  flew  from  the  stone  to  the  gloves, 
and  back  again  to  the  inspector's  face. 

"I  can  not  believe  it.  I  can  not  believe  it."  And 
his  hand  flew  wildly  to  his  forehead. 

"Yet  it  is  the  truth,  Mr.  Durand,  and  one  you 
have  now  to  face.  How  will  you  do  this?  By  any 
further  explanations,  or  by  what  you  may  consider 
a  discreet  silence?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  explain, — the  facts  are  as  I 
have  stated." 

The  inspector  regarded  him  with  an  earnestness 
which  made  my  heart  sink. 

"You  can  fix  the  time  of  this  visit,  I  hope;  tell 
us,  I  mean,  just  when  you  left  the  alcove.  You 
must  have  seen  some  one  who  can  speak  for  you." 

"I  fear  not." 

Why  did  he  look  so  disturbed  and  uncertain? 

"There  were  but  few  persons  in  the  hall  just 
then,"  he  went  on  to  explain.  "No  one  was  sitting 
on  the  yellow  divan." 

"You  know  where  you  went,  though  ?  Whom  you 
saw  and  what  you  did  before  the  alarm  spread?" 

52 


ANSON    DURAND 

"Inspector,  I  am  quite  confused.  I  did  go  some 
where;  I  did  not  remain  in  that  part  of  the  hall. 
But  I  can  tell  you  nothing  definite,  save  that  I 
walked  about,  mostly  among  strangers,  till  the  cry 
rose  which  sent  us  all  in  one  direction  and  me  to  the 
side  of  my  fainting  sweetheart." 

"Can  you  pick  out  any  stranger  you  talked  to, 
or  any  one  who  might  have  noted  you  during  this 
interval?  You  see,  for  the  sake  of  this  little  woman, 
I  wish  to  give  you  every  chance." 

"Inspector,  I  am  obliged  to  throw  myself  on  your 
mercy.  I  have  no  such  witness  to  my  innocence  as 
you  call  for.  Innocent  people  seldom  have.  It  is 
only  the  guilty  who  take  the  trouble  to  provide  for 
such  contingencies." 

This  was  all  very  well,  if  it  had  been  uttered  with 
a  straightforward  air  and  in  a  clear  tone.  But  it 
was  not.  I  who  loved  him  felt  that  it  was  not,  and 
consequently  was  more  or  less  prepared  for  the 
change  which  now  took  place  in  the  inspector's  man 
ner.  Yet  it  pierced  me  to  the  heart  to  observe  this 
change,  and  I  instinctively  dropped  my  face  into 

53 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

my  hands  when  I  saw  him  move  toward  Mr.  Durand 
with  some  final  order  or  word  of  caution. 

Instantly  (and  who  can  account  for  such  phe 
nomena?)  there  floated  into  view  before  my  retina 
a  reproduction  of  the  picture  I  had  seen,  or  imag 
ined  myself  to  have  seen,  in  the  supper-room ;  and 
as  at  that  time  it  opened  before  me  an  unknown  vista 
quite  removed  from  the  surrounding  scene,  so  it  did 
now,  and  I  beheld  again  in  faint  outlines,  and  yet 
with  the  effect  of  complete  distinctness,  a  square  of 
light  through  which  appeared  an  open  passage 
partly  shut  off  from  view  by  a  half -lifted  curtain 
and  the  tall  figure  of  a  man  holding  back  this  cur 
tain  and  gazing,  or  seeming  to  gaze,  at  his  own 
breast,  on  which  he  had  already  laid  one  quivering 
finger. 

What  did  it  mean?  In  the  excitement  of  the  hor 
rible  occurrence  which  had  engrossed  us  all,  I  had 
forgotten  this  curious  experience;  but  on  feeling 
anew  the  vague  sensation  of  shock  and  expectation 
which  seemed  its  natural  accompaniment,  I  became 
conscious  of  a  sudden  conviction  that  the  picture 

54 


ANSON    DURAND 

which  had  opened  before  me  in  the  supper-room  was 
the  result  of  a  reflection  in  a  glass  or  mirror  of 
something  then  going  on  in  a  place  not  otherwise 
within  the  reach  of  my  vision ;  a  reflection,  the  im 
portance  of  which  I  suddenly  realized  when  I  re 
called  at  what  a  critical  moment  it  had  occurred. 
A  man  in  a  state  of  dread  looking  at  his  breast, 
within  five  minutes  of  the  stir  and  rush  of  the  dread 
ful  event  which  had  marked  this  evening ! 

A  hope,  great  as  the  despair  in  which  I  had  just 
been  sunk,  gave  me  courage  to  drop  my  hands  and 
advance  impetuously  toward  the  inspector. 

"Don't  speak,  I  pray;  don't  judge  any  of  us 
further  till  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say." 

In  great  astonishment  and  with  an  aspect  of  some 
severity,  he  asked  me  what  I  had  to  say  now  which 
I  had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  saying  before.  I 
replied  with  all  the  passion  of  a  forlorn  hope  that 
it  was  only  at  this  present  moment  I  remembered  a 
fact  which  might  have  a  very  decided  bearing  on 
this  case ;  and,  detecting  evidences,  as  I  thought,  of 
relenting  on  his  part,  I  backed  up  this  statement  by 

55 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

an  entreaty  for  a  few  words  with  him  apart,  as  the 
matter  I  had  to  tell  was  private  and  possibly  too 
fanciful  for  any  ear  but  his  own. 

He  looked  as  if  he  apprehended  some  loss  of 
valuable  time,  but,  touched  by  the  involuntary 
gesture  of  appeal  with  which  I  supplemented  my 
request,  he  led  me  into  a  corner,  where,  with  just  an 
encouraging  glance  toward  Mr.  Durand,  who 
seemed  struck  dumb  by  my  action,  I  told  the 
inspector  of  that  momentary  picture  which  I  had 
seen  reflected  in  what  I  was  now  sure  was  some 
window-pane  or  mirror. 

"It  was  at  a  time  coincident,  or  very  nearly  co 
incident,  with  the  perpetration  of  the  crime  you  are 
now  investigating,"  I  concluded.  "Within  five  min 
utes  afterward  came  the  shout  which  roused  us  all 
to  what  had  happened  in  the  alcove.  I  do  not  know 
what  passage  I  saw  or  what  door  or  even  what 
figure;  but  the  latter,  I  am  sure,  was  that  of  the 
guilty  man.  Something  in  the  outline  (and  it  was 
the  outline  only  I  could  catch)  expressed  an  emo 
tion  incomprehensible  to  me  at  the  moment,  but 

56 


ANSON    DURAND 

which,  in  my  remembrance,  impresses  me  as  that  of 
fear  and  dread.  It  was  not  the  entrance  to  the  al 
cove  I  beheld — that  would  have  struck  me  at  once — 
but  some  other  opening  which  I  might  recognize  if 
I  saw  it.  Can  not  that  opening  be  found,  and  may  it 
not  give  a  clue  to  the  man  I  saw  skulking  through 
it  with  terror  and  remorse  in  his  heart?" 

"Was  this  figure,  when  you  saw  it,  turned  toward 
you  or  away?"  the  inspector  inquired  with  unex 
pected  interest. 

"Turned  partly  away.   He  was  going  from  me." 

"And  you  sat — where?" 

"Shall  I  show  you?" 

The  inspector  bowed,  then  with  a  low  word  of 
caution  turned  to  my  uncle. 

"I  am  going  to  take  this  young  lady  into  the  hall 
for  a  moment,  at  her  own  request.  May  I  ask  you 
and  Mr.  Durand  to  await  me  here?" 

Without  pausing  for  reply,  he  threw  open  the 
door  and  presently  we  were  pacing  the  deserted 
supper-room,  seeking  the  place  where  I  had  sat.  I 
found  it  almost  by  a  miracle, — everything  being 

57 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

in  great  disorder.  Guided  by  my  bouquet,  which  I 
had  left  behind  me  in  my  escape  from  the  table,  I 
laid  hold  of  the  chair  before  which  it  lay,  and  de 
clared  quite  confidently  to  the  inspector : 

"This  is  where  I  sat." 

Naturally  his  glance  and  mine  both  flew  to  the 
opposite  wall.  A  window  was  before  us  of  an  un 
usual  size  and  make.  Unlike  any  which  had  ever 
before  come  under  my  observation,  it  swung  on  a 
pivot,  and,  though  shut  at  the  present  moment, 
might  very  easily,  when  opened,  present  its  huge 
pane  at  an  angle  capable  of  catching  reflections 
from  some  of  the  many  mirrors  decorating  the  re 
ception-room  situated  diagonally  across  the  hall. 
As  all  the  doorways  on  this  lower  floor  were  of  un 
usual  width,  an  open  path  was  offered,  as  it  were, 
for  these  reflections  to  pass,  making  it  possible  for 
scenes  to  be  imaged  here  which,  to  the  persons  in 
volved,  would  seem  as  safe  from  any  one's  scrutiny 
as  if  they  were  taking  place  in  the  adjoining  house. 

As  we  realized  this,  a  look  passed  between  us  of 
more  than  ordinary  significance.  Pointing  to  the 

58 


ANSON    DURAND 

window,  the  inspector  turned  to  a  group  of  waiters 
watching  us  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  and 
asked  if  it  had  been  opened  that  evening. 

The  answer  came  quickly. 

"Yes,  sir,— just  before  the— the— " 

"I  understand,"  broke  in  the  inspector ;  and,  lean 
ing  over  me,  he  whispered :  "Tell  me  again  exactly 
what  you  thought  you  saw." 

But  I  could  add  little  to  my  former  description. 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  this,"  he  kindly  per 
sisted.  "Was  the  picture,  when  you  saw  it,  on  a 
level  with  your  eye,  or  did  you  have  to  lift  your 
head  in  order  to  see  it  ?" 

"It  was  high  up, — in  the  air,  as  it  were.  That 
seemed  its  oddest  feature." 

The  inspector's  mouth  took  a  satisfied  curve. 

"Possibly  I  might  identify  the  door  and  passage, 
if  I  saw  them,"  I  suggc  sted. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  was  his  cheerful  rejoin 
der  ;  and,  summoning  one  of  his  men,  he  was  about 
to  give  some  order,  when  his  impulse  changed,  and 
he  asked  if  I  could  draw. 

59 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

I  assured  him,  in  some  surprise,  that  I  was  far 
from  being  an  adept  in  that  direction,  but  that  pos 
sibly  I  might  manage  a  rough  sketch;  whereupon 
he  pulled  a  pad  and  pencil  from  his  pocket  and  re 
quested  me  to  make  some  sort  of  attempt  to  repro 
duce,  on  paper,  my  memory  of  this  passage  and  the 
door. 

My  heart  was  beating  violently,  and  the  pencil 
shook  in  my  hand,  but  I  knew  that  it  would  not  do 
for  me  to  show  any  hesitation  in  fixing  for  all  eyes 
what,  unaccountably  to  myself,  continued  to  be  per 
fectly  plain  to  my  own.  So  I  endeavored  to  do  as 
he  bade  me,  and  succeeded,  to  some  extent,  for  he 
uttered  a  slight  ejaculation  at  one  of  its  features, 
and,  while  duly  expressing  his  thanks,  honored  me 
with  a  very  sharp  look. 

"Is  this  your  first  visit  to  this  house?"  he  asked. 

"No ;  I  have  been  here  before." 

"In  the  evening,  or  in  the  afternoon?" 

"In  the  afternoon." 

"I  am  told  that  the  main  entrance  is  not  in  use 
to-night." 

60 


ANSON    DURAND 

"No.  A  side  door  is  provided  for  occasions  like 
the  present.  Guests  entering  there  find  a  special 
hall  and  staircase,  by  which  they  can  reach  the  up 
stairs  dressing-rooms,  without  crossing  the  main 
hall.  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?" 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean." 

I  stared  at  him  in  wonder.  What  lay  back  of  such 
questions  as  these? 

"You  came  in,  as  others  did,  by  this  side  en 
trance,"  he  now  proceeded.  "Did  you  notice,  as  you 
turned  to  go  up  stairs,  an  arch  opening  into  a  small 
passageway  at  your  left  ?" 

"I  did  not,"  I  began,  flushing,  for  I  thought  I 
understood  him  now.  "I  was  too  eager  to  reach  the 
dressing-room  to  look  about  me." 

"Very  well,"  he  replied;  "I  may  want  to  show 
you  that  arch." 

The  outline  of  an  arch,  backing  the  figure  we 
were  endeavoring  to  identify,  was  a  marked  feature 
in  the  sketch  I  had  shown  him. 

"Will  you  take  a  seat  near  by  while  I  make  a 
study  of  this  matter?" 

61 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

I  turned  with  alacrity  to  obey.  There  was  some 
thing  in  his  air  and  manner  which  made  me  almost 
buoyant.  Had  my  fanciful  interpretation  of  what 
I  had  seen  reached  him  with  the  conviction  it  had 
me?  If  so,  there  was  hope, — hope  for  the  man  I 
loved,  who  had  gone  in  and  out  between  curtains, 
and  not  through  any  arch  such  as  he  had  mentioned 
or  I  had  described.  Providence  was  working  for  me. 
I  saw  it  in  the  way  the  men  now  moved  about,  swing 
ing  the  window  to  and  fro,  under  the  instruction  of 
the  inspector,  manipulating  the  lights,  opening 
doors  and  drawing  back  curtains.  Providence  was 
working  for  me,  and  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  I 
was  asked  to  reseat  myself  in  my  old  place  at  the 
supper-table  and  take  another  look  in  that  slightly 
deflected  glass,  I  knew  that  my  effort  had  met  with 
its  reward,  and  that  for  the  second  time  I  was  to  re 
ceive  the  impression  of  a  place  now  indelibly  im 
printed  on  my  consciousness. 

"Is  not  that  it?"  asked  the  inspector,  pointing  at 
the  glass  with  a  last  look  at  the  imperfect  sketch  I 
had  made  him,  and  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand. 


ANSON    DURAND 

"Yes,"  I  eagerly  responded.  "All  but  the  man. 
He  whose  figure  I  see  there  is  another  person  en 
tirely  ;  I  see  no  remorse,  or  even  fear,  in  his  looks." 

"Of  course  not.  You  are  looking  at  the  reflection 
of  one  of  my  men.  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  do  you  recog 
nize  the  place  now  under  your  eye  ?" 

"I  do  not.  You  spoke  of  an  arch  in  the  hall,  at 
the  left  of  the  carriage  entrance,  and  I  see  an  arch 
in  the  window-pane  before  me,  but — " 

"You  are  looking  straight  through  the  alcove, — 
perhaps  you  did  not  know  that  another  door  opened 
at  its  back, — into  the  passage  which  runs  behind  it. 
Farther  on  is  the  arch,  and  beyond  that  arch  the 
side  hall  and  staircase  leading  to  the  dressing- 
rooms.  This  door,  the  one  in  the  rear  of  the  alcove, 
I  mean,  is  hidden  from  those  entering  from  the 
main  hall  by  draperies  which  have  been  hung  over 
it  for  this  occasion,  but  it  is  quite  visible  from  the 
back  passageway,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
it  was  by  its  means  the  man,  whose  reflected  image 
you  saw,  both  entered  and  left  the  alcove.  It  is  an 
important  fact  to  establish,  and  we  feel  very  much 

63 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

obliged  to  you  for  the  aid  you  have  given  us  in  this 
matter." 

Then,  as  I  continued  to  stare  at  him  in  my  elation 
and  surprise,  he  added,  in  quick  explanation : 

"The  lights  in  the  alcove,  and  in  the  several 
parlors,  are  all  hung  with  shades,  as  you  must  per 
ceive,  but  the  one  in  the  hall,  beyond  the  arch,  is 
very  bright,  which  accounts  for  the  distinctness  of 
this  double  reflection.  Another  thing, — and  it  is  a 
very  interesting  point, — it  would  have  been  impos 
sible  for  this  reflection  to  be  noticeable  from  where 
you  sit,  if  the  level  of  the  alcove  flooring  had  not 
been  considerably  higher  than  that  of  the  main 
floor.  But  for  this  freak  of  the  architect,  the  con 
tinual  passing  to  and  fro  of  people  would  have  pre 
vented  the  reflection  in  its  passage  from  surface  to 
surface.  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  it  would  seem  that  by 
one  of  those  chances  which  happen  but  once  or 
twice  in  a  lifetime,  every  condition  was  propitious 
at  the  moment  to  make  this  reflection  a  possible 
occurrence, — even  the  location  and  width  of  the 
several  doorways  and  the  exact  point  at  which  the 

64 


ANSON    DURAND 

portiere  was  drawn  aside  from  the  entrance  to  the 
alcove." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  I  cried,  "wonderful !"  Then, 
to  his  astonishment,  perhaps,  I  asked  if  there  was 
not  a  small  door  of  communication  between  the  pas 
sageway  back  of  the  alcove  and  the  large  central 
hall. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "It  opens  just  beyond  the 
fireplace.  Three  small  steps  lead  to  it." 

"I  thought  so,"  I  murmured,  but  more  to  my 
self  than  to  him.  In  my  mind  I  was  thinking  how 
a  man,  if  he  so  wished,  could  pass  from  the  very 
heart  of  this  assemblage  into  the  quiet  passageway, 
and  so  on  into  the  alcove,  without  attracting  very 
much  attention  from  his  fellow  guests.  I  forgot 
that  there  was  another  way  of  approach  even  less 
noticeable — that  by  the  small  staircase  running  up 
beyond  the  arch  directly  to  the  dressing-rooms. 

That  no  confusion  may  arise  in  any  one's  mind 
in  regard  to  these  curious  approaches,  I  subjoin  a 
plan  of  this  portion  of  the  lower  floor  as  it  after 
ward  appeared  in  the  leading  dailies. 

65 


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PLAN  OF  THE  EAMSDELL  HOUSE 


ANSON    DURAND 

"And  Mr.  Durand?"  I  stammered,  as  I  followed 
the  inspector  back  to  the  room  where  we  had  left 
that  gentleman.  "You  will  believe  his  statement 
now  and  look  for  this  second  intruder  with  the  guilt 
ily-hanging  head  and  frightened  mien  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  stopping  me  on  the  threshold 
of  the  door  and  taking  my  hand  kindly  in  his,  "if — 
(don't  start,  my  dear;  life  is  full  of  trouble  for 
young  and  old,  and  youth  is  the  best  time  to  face  a 
sad  experience)  if  he  is  not  himself  the  man  you 
saw  staring  in  frightened  horror  at  his  breast. 
Have  you  not  noticed  that  he  is  not  dressed  in  all 
respects  like  the  other  gentlemen  present?  That, 
though  he  has  not  donned  his  overcoat,  he  has  put 
on,  somewhat  prematurely,  one  might  say,  the  large 
silk  handkerchief  he  presumably  wears  under  it? 
Have  you  not  noticed  this,  and  asked  yourself 
why?" 

I  had  noticed  it.  I  had  noticed  it  from  the  mo 
ment  I  recovered  from  my  fainting  fit,  but  I  had  not 
thought  it  a  matter  of  sufficient  interest  to  ask, 
even  of  myself,  his  reason  for  thus  hiding  his  shirt- 

67 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

front.  Now  I  could  not.  My  faculties  were  too  con 
fused,  my  heart  too  deeply  shaken  by  the  sugges 
tion  which  the  inspector's  words  conveyed,  for  me  to 
be  conscious  of  anything  but  the  devouring  ques 
tion  as  to  what  I  should  do  if,  by  my  own  mistaken 
zeal,  I  had  succeeded  in  plunging  the  man  I  loved 
yet  deeper  into  the  toils  in  which  he  had  become 
enmeshed. 

The  inspector  left  me  no  time  for  the  settlement 
of  this  question.  Ushering  me  back  into  the  room 
where  Mr.  Durand  and  my  uncle  awaited  our  return 
in  apparently  unrelieved  silence,  he  closed  the  door 
upon  the  curious  eyes  of  the  various  persons  still 
lingering  in  the  hall,  and  abruptly  said  to  Mr.  Du 
rand: 

"The  explanations  you  have  been  pleased  to  give 
of  the  manner  in  which  this  diamond  came  into  your 
possession  are  not  too  fanciful  for  credence,  if  you 
can  satisfy  us  on  another  point  which  has  awakened 
some  doubt  in  the  mind  of  one  of  my  men.  Mr. 
Durand,  you  appear  to  have  prepared  yourself  for 
departure  somewhat  prematurely.  Do  you  mind  re- 

68 


ANSON    DURAND 

moving  that  handkerchief  for  a  moment?  My  rea 
son  for  so  peculiar  a  request  will  presently  appear." 

Alas,  for  my  last  fond  hope !  Mr.  Durand,  with  a 
face  as  white  as  the  background  of  snow  framed 
by  the  uncurtained  window  against  which  he  leaned, 
lifted  his  hand  as  if  to  comply  with  the  inspector's 
request,  then  let  it  fall  again  with  a  grating  laugh. 

"I  see  that  I  am  not  likely  to  escape  any  of  the 
results  of  my  imprudence,"  he  cried,  and  with  a 
quick  jerk  bared  his  shirt-front. 

A  splash  of  red  defiled  its  otherwise  uniform 
whiteness !  That  it  was  the  red  of  heart's  blood  was 
proved  by  the  shrinking  look  he  unconsciously  cast 
at  it. 


IV 


EXPLANATIONS 

My  love  for  Anson  Durand  died  at  sight  of  that 
crimson  splash — or  I  thought  it  did.  In  this  spot 
of  blood  on  -the  breast  of  him  to  whom  I  had  given 
my  heart  I  could  read  but  one  word — guilt — hein 
ous  guilt,  guilt  denied  and  now  brought  to  light  in 
language  that  could  be  seen  and  read  by  all  men. 
Why  should  I  stay  in  such  a  presence?  Had  not 
the  inspector  himself  advised  me  to  go? 

Yes,  but  another  voice  bade  me  remain.  Just  as 
I  reached  the  door,  Anson  Durand  found  his  voice 
and  I  heard,  in  the  full,  sweet  tones  I  loved  so  well : 

"Wait!  I  am  not  to  be  judged  like  this.  I  will 
explain !" 

But  here  the  inspector  interposed. 

"Do  you  think  it  wise  to  make  any  such  attempt 
without  the  advice  of  counsel,  Mr.  Durand?" 

70 


EXPLANATIONS 

The  indignation  with  which  Mr.  Durand  wheeled 
toward  him  raised  in  me  a  faint  hope. 

"Good  God,  yes !"  he  cried.  "Would  you  have  me 
leave  Miss  Van  Arsdale  one  minute  longer  than  is 
necessary  to  such  dreadful  doubts  ?  Rita — Miss  Van 
Arsdale — weakness,  and  weakness  only,  has  brought 
me  into  my  present  position.  I  did  not  kill  Mrs. 
Fairbrother,  nor  did  I  knowingly  take  her  diamond, 
though  appearances  look  that  way,  as  I  am  very 
ready  to  acknowledge.  I  did  go  to  her  in  the  alcove, 
not  once,  but  twice,  and  these  are  my  reasons  for  do 
ing  so:  About  three  months  ago  a  certain  well- 
known  man  of  enormous  wealth  came  to  me  with  the 
request  that  I  should  procure  for  him  a  diamond  of 
superior  beauty.  He  wished  to  give  it  to  his  wife, 
and  he  wished  it  to  outshine  any  which  could  now  be 
found  in  New  York.  This  meant  sending  abroad — 
an  expense  he  was  quite  willing  to  incur  on  the  sole 
condition  that  the  stone  should  not  disappoint  him 
when  he  saw  it,  and  that  it  was  to  be  in  his  hands 
on  the  eighteenth  of  March,  his  wife's  birthday. 
Never  before  had  I  had  such  an  opportunity  for  a 

71 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

large  stroke  of  business.  Naturally  elated,  I  entered 
at  once  into  correspondence  with  the  best  known 
dealers  on  the  other  side,  and  last  week  a  diamond 
was  delivered  to  me  which  seemed  to  fill  all  the  neces 
sary  requirements.  I  had  never  seen  a  finer  stone, 
and  was  consequently  rej  oicing  in  my  success,  when 
some  one,  I  do  not  remember  who  now,  chanced  to 
speak  in  my  hearing  of  the  wonderful  stone  pos 
sessed  by  a  certain  Mrs.  Fairbrother — a  stone  so 
large,  so  brilliant  and  so  precious  altogether  that 
she  seldom  wore  it,  though  it  was  known  to  con 
noisseurs  and  had  a  great  reputation  at  Tiffany's, 
where  it  had  once  been  sent  for  some  alteration  in 
the  setting.  Was  this  stone  larger  and  finer  than 
the  one  I  had  procured  with  so  much  trouble  ?  If  so, 
my  labor  had  all  been  in  vain,  for  my  patron  must 
have  known  of  this  diamond  and  would  expect  to  see 
it  surpassed. 

"I  was  so  upset  by  this  possibility  that  I  resolved 
to  see  the  jewel  and  make  comparisons  for  myself. 
I  found  a  friend  who  agreed  to  introduce  me  to 
the  lady.  She  received  me  very  graciously  and  was 

72 


EXPLANATIONS 

amiable  enough  until  the  subject  of  diamonds  was 
broached,  when  she  immediately  stiffened  and  left 
me  without  an  opportunity  of  proffering  my  re 
quest.  However,  on  every  other  subject  she  was 
affable,  and  I  found  it  easy  enough  to  pursue  the 
acquaintance  till  we  were  almost  on  friendly  terms. 
But  I  never  saw  the  diamond,  nor  would  she  talk 
about  it,  though  I  caused  her  some  surprise  when 
one  day  I  drew  out  before  her  eyes  the  one  I  had 
procured  for  my  patron  and  made  her  look  at  it. 
Tine,'  she  cried,  'fine !'  But  I  failed  to  detect  any 
envy  in  her  manner,  and  so  knew  that  I  had  not 
achieved  the  object  set  me  by  my  wealthy  customer. 
This  was  a  woeful  disappointment;  yet,  as  Mrs. 
Fairbrother  never  wore  her  diamond,  it  was  among 
the  possibilities  that  he  might  be  satisfied  with  the 
very  fine  gem  I  had  obtained  for  him,  and,  influenced 
by  this  hope,  I  sent  him  this  morning  a  request  to 
come  and  see  it  to-morrow.  To-night  I  attended  this 
ball,  and  almost  as  soon  as  I  enter  the  drawing- 
room  I  hear  that  Mrs.  Fairbrother  is  present  and 
is  wearing  her  famous  jewel.  What  could  you  ex- 

73 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

pect  of  me?  Why,  that  I  would  make  an  effort  to 
see  it  and  so  be  ready  with  a  reply  to  my  exacting 
customer  when  he  should  ask  me  to-morrow  if  the 
stone  I  showed  him  had  its  peer  in  the  city.  But 
she  was  not  in  the  drawing-room  then,  and  later  I 
became  interested  elsewhere" — here  he  cast  a  look  at 
me — "so  that  half  the  evening  passed  before  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  join  her  in  the  so-called  alcove, 
where  I  had  seen  her  set  up  her  miniature  court. 
What  passed  between  us  in  the  short  interview  we 
held  together  you  will  find  me  prepared  to  state,  if 
necessary.  It  was  chiefly  marked  by  the  one  short 
view  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  of  her  marvelous  dia 
mond,  in  spite  of  the  pains  she  took  to  hide  it  from 
me  by  some  natural  movement  whenever  she  caught 
my  eyes  leaving  her  face.  But  in  that  one  short  look 
I  had  seen  enough.  This  was  a  gem  for  a  collector, 
not  to  be  worn  save  in  a  royal  presence.  How  had 
she  come  by  it?  And  could  Mr.  Smythe  expect  me 
to  procure  him  a  stone  like  that?  In  my  confusion 
I  arose  to  depart,  but  the  lady  showed  a  disposition 
to  keep  me,  and  began  chatting  so  vivaciously  that 

74 


EXPLANATIONS 

I  scarcely  noticed  that  she  was  all  the  time  engaged 
in  drawing  off  her  gloves.  Indeed,  I  almost  forgot 
the  jewel,  possibly  because  her  movements  hid  it  so 
completely,  and  only  remembered  it  when,  with  a 
sudden  turn  from  the  window  where  she  had  drawn 
me  to  watch  the  falling  flakes,  she  pressed  the  gloves 
into  my  hand  with  the  coquettish  request  that  I 
should  take  care  of  them  for  her.  I  remember,  as  I 
took  them,  of  striving  to  catch  another  glimpse  of 
the  stone,  whose  brilliancy  had  dazzled  me,  but  she 
had  opened  her  fan  between  us.  A  moment  after, 
thinking  I  heard  approaching  steps,  I  quitted  the 
room.  This  was  my  first  visit." 

As  he  stopped,  possibly  for  breath,  possibly  to 
judge  to  what  extent  I  was  impressed  by  his  ac 
count,  the  inspector  seized  the  opportunity  to  ask 
if  Mrs.  Fairbrother  had  been  standing  any  of  this 
time  with  her  back  to  him.  To  which  he  answered 
yes,  while  they  were  in  the  window. 

"Long  enough  for  her  to  pluck  off  the  jewel  and 
thrust  it  into  the  gloves,  if  she  had  so  wished?" 

"Quite  long  enough." 

7* 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"But  you  did  not  see  her  do  this?" 

«I  did  not." 

"And  so  took  the  gloves  without  suspicion  ?" 

"Entirely  so." 

"And  carried  them  away  ?" 

"Unfortunately,  yes." 

"Without  thinking  that  she  might  want  them  the 
next  minute?" 

"I  doubt  if  I  was  thinking  seriously  of  her  at  all. 
My  thoughts  were  on  my  own  disappointment." 

"Did  you  carry  these  gloves  out  in  your  hand?" 

"No,  in  my  pocket." 

"I  see.  And  you  met — " 

"No  one.  The  sound  I  heard  must  have  come 
from  the  rear  hall." 

"And  there  was  nobody  on  the  steps  ?" 

"No.  A  gentleman  was  standing  at  their  foot — 
Mr.  Grey,  the  Englishman — but  his  face  was  turned 
another  way,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been  in  that 
same  position  for  several  minutes." 

"Did  this  gentleman — Mr.  Grey — see  you?" 

"I  can  not  say,  but  I  doubt  it.  He  appeared  to 
76 


EXPLANATIONS 

be  in  a  sort  of  dream.  There  were  other  people 
about,  but  nobody  with  whom  I  was  acquainted." 

"Very  good.  Now  for  the  second  visit  you  ac 
knowledge  having  paid  this  unfortunate  lady." 

The  inspector's  voice  was  hard.  I  clung  a  little 
more  tightly  to  my  uncle,  and  Mr.  Durand,  after 
one  agonizing  glance  my  way,  drew  himself  up  as 
if  quite  conscious  that  he  had  entered  upon  the  most 
serious  part  of  the  struggle. 

"I  had  forgotten  the  gloves  in  my  hurried  de 
parture;  but  presently  I  remembered  them,  and 
grew  very  uneasy.  I  did  not  like  carrying  this 
woman's  property  about  with  me.  I  had  engaged 
myself,  an  hour  before,  to  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  and 
was  very  anxious  to  rejoin  her.  The  gloves  worried 
me,  and  finally,  after  a  little  aimless  wandering 
through  the  various  rooms,  I  determined  to  go  back 
and  restore  them  to  their  owner.  The  doors  of  the 
supper-room  had  just  been  flung  open,  and  the  end 
of  the  hall  near  the  alcove  was  comparatively  empty, 
save  for  a  certain  quizzical  friend  of  mine,  whom  I 
saw  sitting  with  his  partner  on  the  yellow  divan.  I 

77 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

did  not  want  to  encounter  him  just  then,  for  he  had 
already  joked  me  about  my  admiration  for  the  lady 
with  the  diamond,  and  so  I  conceived  the  idea  of  ap 
proaching  her  by  means  of  a  second  entrance  to  the 
alcove,  unsuspected  by  most  of  those  present,  but 
perfectly  well-known  to  me,  who  have  been  a  fre 
quent  guest  in  this  house.  A  door,  covered  by  tem 
porary  draperies,  connects,  as  you  may  know,  this 
alcove  with  a  passageway  communicating  directly 
with  the  hall  of  entrance  and  the  up-stairs  dressing- 
rooms.  To  go  up  the  main  stairs  and  come  down  by 
the  side  one,  and  so  on,  through  a  small  archway, 
was  a  very  simple  matter  for  me.  If  no  early-de 
parting  or  late-arriving  guests  were  in. that  hall,  I 
need  fear  but  one  encounter,  and  that  was  with  the 
servant  stationed  at  the  carriage  entrance.  But  even 
he  was  absent  at  this  propitious  instant,  and  I 
reached  the  door  I  sought  without  any  unpleasant 
ness.  This  door  opened  out  instead  of  in, — this  I 
also  knew  when  planning  this  surreptitious  intru 
sion,  but,  after  pulling  it  open  and  reaching  for 
the  curtain,  which  hung  completely  across  it,  I 

78 


EXPLANATIONS 

found  it  not  so  easy  to  proceed  as  I  had  imagined. 
The  stealthiness  of  my  action  held  back  my  hand; 
then  the  faint  sounds  I  heard  within  advised  me 
that  she  was  not  alone,  and  that  she  might  very 
readily  regard  with  displeasure  my  unexpected  en 
trance  by  a  door  of  which  she  was  possibly  ignorant. 
I  tell  you  all  this  because,  if  by  any  chance  I  was 
seen  hesitating  in  face  of  that  curtain,  doubts 
might  have  been  raised  which  I  am  anxious  to  dis 
pel."  Here  his  eyes  left  my  face  for  that  of  the  in 
spector. 

"It  certainly  had  a  bad  look, — that  I  don't  deny ; 
but  I  did  not  think  of  appearances  then.  I  was  too 
anxious  to  complete  a  task  which  had  suddenly  pre 
sented  unexpected  difficulties.  That  I  listened  be 
fore  entering  was  very  natural,  and  when  I  heard 
no  voice,  only  something  like  a  great  sigh,  I  ven 
tured  to  lift  the  curtain  and  step  in.  She  was  sit 
ting,  not  where  I  had  left  her,  but  on  a  couch  at  the 
left  of  the  usual  entrance,  her  face  toward  me,  and 
— you  know  how,  Inspector.  It  was  her  last  sigh 
I  had  heard.  Horrified,  for  I  had  never  looked  on 

79 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

death  before,  much  less  crime,  I  reeled  forward, 
meaning,  I  presume,  to  rush  down  the  steps  shout 
ing  for  help,  when,  suddenly,  something  fell  splash 
ing  on  my  shirt-front,  and  I  saw  myself  marked 
with  a  stain  of  blood.  This  both  frightened  and 
bewildered  me,  and  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before 
I  had  the  courage  to  look  up.  When  I  did  do  so,  I 
saw  whence  this  drop  had  come.  Not  from  her, 
though  the  red  stream  was  pouring  down  the  rich 
folds  of  her  dress,  but  from  a  sharp  needle-like  in 
strument  which  had  been  thrust,  point  downward, 
in  the  open  work  of  an  antique  lantern  hanging 
near  the  doorway.  What  had  happened  to  me  might 
have  happened  to  any  one  who  chanced  to  be  in  that 
spot  at  that  special  moment,  but  I  did  not  realize 
this  then.  Covering  the  splash  with  my  hands,  I 
edged  myself  back  to  the  door  by  which  I  had  en 
tered,  watching  those  deathful  eyes  and  crushing 
under  my  feet  the  remnants  of  some  broken  china 
with  which  the  carpet  was  bestrewn.  I  had  no 
thought  of  her,  hardly  any  of  myself.  To  cross  the 
room  was  all ;  to  escape  as  secretly  as  I  came,  before 

80 


EXPLANATIONS 

the  portiere  so  nearly  drawn  between  me  and  the 
main  hall  should  stir  under  the  hand  of  some  curious 
person  entering.  It  was  my  first  sight  of  blood; 
my  first  contact  with  crime,  and  that  was  what  I 
did,— I  fled." 

The  last  word  was  uttered  with  a  gasp.  Evi 
dently  he  was  greatly  affected  by  this  horrible  ex 
perience. 

"I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  muttered,  "but 
nothing  can  now  undo  the  fact.  I  slid  from  the 
presence  of  this  murdered  woman  as  though  she 
had  been  the  victim  of  my  own  rage  or  cupidity ; 
and,  being  fortunate  enough  to  reach  the  dressing- 
room  before  the  alarm  had  spread  beyond  the  imme 
diate  vicinity  of  the  alcove,  found  and  put  on  the 
handkerchief,  which  made  it  possible  for  me  to  rush 
down  and  find  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  who,  somebody 
told  me,  had  fainted.  Not  till  I  stood  over  her  in 
that  remote  corner  beyond  the  supper-room  did  I 
again  think  of  the  gloves.  What  I  did  when  I  hap 
pened  to  think  of  them,  you  already  know.  I  could 
have  shown  no  greater  cowardice  if  I  had  known 

81 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that  the  murdered  woman's  diamond  was  hidden  in 
side  them.  Yet,  I  did  not  know  this,  or  even  suspect 
it.  Nor  do  I  understand,  now,  her  reason  for  plac 
ing  it  there.  Why  should  Mrs.  Fairbrother  risk 
such  an  invaluable  gem  to  the  custody  of  one  she 
knew  so  little?  An  unconscious  custody,  too?  Was 
she  afraid  of  being  murdered  if  she  retained  this 
jewel?" 

The  inspector  thought  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"You  mention  your  dread  of  some  one  entering 
by  the  one  door  before  you  could  escape  by  the 
other.  Do  you  refer  to  the  friend  you  left  sitting 
on  the  divan  opposite  ?" 

"No,  my  friend  had  left  that  seat.  The  portiere 
was  sufficiently  drawn  for  me  to  detect  that.  If  I 
had  waited  a  minute  longer,"  he  bitterly  added,  "I 
should  have  found  my  way  open  to  the  regular  en 
trance,  and  so  escaped  all  this." 

"Mr.  Durand,  you  are  not  obliged  to  answer  any 
of  my  questions ;  but,  if  you  wish,  you  may  tell  me 
whether,  at  this  moment  of  apprehension,  you 
thought  of  the  danger  you  ran  of  being  seen  from 

82 


EXPLANATIONS 

outside  by  some  one  of  the  many  coachmen  passing 
by  on  the  driveway  ?" 

"No, — I  did  not  even  think  of  the  window, — I 
don't  know  why ;  but,  if  any  one  passing  by  did  see 
me,  I  hope  they  saw  enough  to  substantiate  my 
story." 

The  inspector  made  no  reply.  He  seemed  to  be 
thinking.  I  heard  afterward  that  the  curtains, 
looped  back  in  the  early  evening,  had  been  found 
hanging  at  full  length  over  this  window  by  those 
who  first  rushed  in  upon  the  scene  of  death.  Had 
he  hoped  to  entrap  Mr.  Durand  into  some  damaging 
admission?  Or  was  he  merely  testing  his  truth? 
His  expression  afforded  no  clue  to  his  thoughts,  and 
Mr.  Durand,  noting  this,  remarked  with  some  dig 
nity: 

"I  do  not  expect  strangers  to  accept  these  ex 
planations,  which  must  sound  strange  and  inade 
quate  in  face  of  the  proof  I  carry  of  having  been 
with  that  woman  after  the  fatal  weapon  struck  her 
heart.  But,  to  one  who  knows  me,  and  knows  me 
well,  I  can  surely  appeal  for  credence  to  a  tale 

83 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

which  I  here  declare  to  be  as  true  as  if  I  had  sworn 
to  it  in  a  court  of  justice." 

"Anson !"  I  passionately  cried  out,  loosening  my 
clutch  upon  my  uncle's  arm.  My  confidence  in  him 
had  returned. 

And  then,  as  I  noted  the  inspector's  businesslike 
air,  and  my  uncle's  wavering  look  and  unconvinced 
manner,  I  felt  my  heart  swell,  and,  flinging  all 
discretion  to  the  wind,  I  bounded  eagerly  forward. 
Laying  my  hands  in  those  of  Mr.  Durand,  I  cried 
fervently : 

"7  believe  in  you.  Nothing  but  your  own  words 
shall  ever  shake  my  confidence  in  your  innocence." 

The  sweet,  glad  look  I  received  was  my  best  re 
ply.  I  could  leave  the  room,  after  that. 

But  not  the  house.  Another  experience  awaited 
me,  awaited  us  all,  before  this  full,  eventful  even 
ing  came  to  a  close. 


84 


SUPERSTITION 

I  had  gone  up  stairs  for  my  wraps — my  uncle 
having  insisted  on  my  withdrawing  from  a  scene 
where  my  very  presence  seemed  in  some  degree  to 
compromise  me. 

Soon  prepared  for  my  departure,  I  was  crossing 
the  hall  to  the  small  door  communicating  with  the 
side  staircase  where  my  uncle  had  promised  to  await 
me,  when  I  felt  myself  seized  by  a  desire  to  have 
another  look  below  before  leaving  the  place  in  which 
were  centered  all  my  deepest  interests. 

A  wide  landing,  breaking  up  the  main  flight  of 
stairs  some  few  feet  from  the  top,  offered  me  an 
admirable  point  of  view.  With  but  little  thought 
of  possible  consequences,  and  no  thought  at  all  of 
my  poor,  patient  uncle,  I  slipped  down  to  this  land 
ing,  and,  protected  by  the  unusual  height  of  its 
balustrade,  allowed  myself  a  parting  glance  at  the 

85 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

scene  with  which  my  most  poignant  memories  were 
henceforth  to  be  connected. 

Before  me  lay  the  large  square  of  the  central 
hall.  Opening  out  from  this  was  the  corridor  lead 
ing  to  the  front  door,  and  incidentally  to  the 
library.  As  my  glance  ran  down  this  corridor,  I 
beheld,  approaching  from  the  room  just  mentioned, 
the  tall  figure  of  the  Englishman. 

He  halted  as  he  reached  the  main  hall  and  stood 
gazing  eagerly  at  a  group  of  men  and  women 
clustered  near  the  fireplace — a  group  on  which  I 
no  sooner  cast  my  own  eye  than  my  attention  also 
became  fixed. 

The  inspector  had  come  from  the  room  where  I 
had  left  him  with  Mr.  Durand  and  was  showing  to 
these  people  the  extraordinary  diamond,  which  he 
had  just  recovered  under  such  remarkable  if  not 
suspicious  circumstances.  Young  heads  and  old 
were  meeting  over  it,  and  I  was  straining  my  ears 
to  hear  such  comments  as  were  audible  above  the 
general  hubbub,  when  Mr.  Grey  made  a  quick  move 
and  I  looked  his  way  again  in  time  to  mark  his  air 

•I 


SUPERSTITION 

of  concern  and  the  uncertainty  he  showed  whether 
to  advance  or  retreat. 

Unconscious  of  my  watchful  eye,  and  noting,  no 
doubt,  that  most  of  the  persons  in  the  group  on 
which  his  own  eye  was  leveled  stood  with  their  backs 
toward  him,  he  made  no  effort  to  disguise  his  pro 
found  interest  in  the  stone.  His  eye  followed  its 
passage  from  hand  to  hand  with  a  covetous  eager 
ness  of  which  he  may  not  have  been  aware,  and  I 
was  not  at  all  surprised  when,  after  a  short  interval 
of  troubled  indecision,  he  impulsively  stepped  for 
ward  and  begged  the  privilege  of  handling  the  gem 
himself. 

Our  host,  who  stood  not  far  from  the  inspector, 
said  something  to  that  gentleman  which  led  to  this 
request  being  complied  with.  The  stone  was  passed 
over  to  Mr.  Grey,  and  I  saw,  possibly  because  my 
heart  was  in  my  eyes,  that  the  great  man's  hand 
trembled  as  it  touched  his  palm.  Indeed,  his  whole 
frame  trembled,  and  I  was  looking  eagerly  for  the 
result  of  his  inspection  when,  on  his  turning  to  hold 
the  jewel  up  to  the  light,  something  happened  so 

87 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

abnormal  and  so  strange  that  no  one  who  was  for 
tunate  (or  unfortunate)  enough  to  be  present  in  the 
house  at  that  instant  will  ever  forget  it. 

This  something  was  a  cry,  coming  from  no  one 
knew  where,  which,  unearthly  in  its  shrillness  and 
the  power  it  had  on  the  imagination,  reverber 
ated  through  the  house  and  died  away  in  a  wail  so 
weird,  so  thrilling  and  so  prolonged  that  it  gripped 
not  only  my  own  nerveless  and  weakened  heart,  but 
those  of  the  ten  strong  men  congregated  below  me. 
The  diamond  dropped  from  Mr.  Grey's  hand,  and 
neither  he  nor  any  one  else  moved  to  pick  it  up. 
Not  till  silence  had  come  again — a  silence  almost  as 
unendurable  to  the  sensitive  ear  as  the  cry  which 
had  preceded  it — did  any  one  stir  or  think  of  the 
gem.  Then  one  gentleman  after  another  bent  to 
look  for  it,  but  with  no  success,  till  one  of  the 
waiters,  who  possibly  had  followed  it  with  his  eye 
or  caught  sight  of  its  sparkle  on  the  edge  of  the 
rug,  whither  it  had  rolled,  sprang  and  picked  it 
up  and  handed  it  back  to  Mr.  Grey. 

Instinctively  the  Englishman's  hand  closed  on 
88 


SUPERSTITION 

it,  but  it  was  very  evident  to  me,  and  I  think  to  all, 
that  his  interest  in  it  was  gone.  If  he  looked  at 
it  he  did  not  see  it,  for  he  stood  like  one  stunned 
all  the  time  that  agitated  men  and  women  were 
running  hither  and  thither  in  unavailing  efforts  to 
locate  the  sound  yet  ringing  in  their  ears.  Not 
till  these  various  searchers  had  all  come  together 
again,  in  terror  of  a  mystery  they  could  not  solve, 
did  he  let  his  hand  fall  and  himself  awake  to  the 
scene  about  him. 

The  words  he  at  once  gave  utterance  to  were  as 
remarkable  as  all  the  rest. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "you  must  pardon  my  agi 
tation.  This  cry — you  need  not  seek  its  source — 
is  one  to  which  I  am  only  too  well  accustomed.  I 
have  been  the  happy  father  of  six  children.  Five 
I  have  buried,  and,  before  the  death  of  each,  this 
same  cry  has  echoed  in  my  ears.  I  have  but  one 
child  left,  a  daughter, — she  is  ill  at  the  hotel.  Do 
you  wonder  that  I  shrink  from  this  note  of  warning, 
and  show  myself  something  less  than  a  man  under 
its  influence?  I  am  going  home;  but,  first,  one 

89 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

word  about  this  stone."  Here  he  lifted  it  and  be 
stowed,  or  appeared  to  bestow  on  it,  an  anxious 
scrutiny,  putting  on  his  glasses  and  examining  it 
carefully  before  passing  it  back  to  the  inspector. 

"I  have  heard,"  said  he,  with  a  change  of  tone 
which  must  have  been  noticeable  to  every  one, 
"that  this  stone  was  a  very  superior  one,  and  quite 
worthy  of  the  fame  it  bore  here  in  America.  But, 
gentlemen,  you  have  all  been  greatly  deceived  in 
it ;  no  one  more  than  he  who  was  willing  to  commit 
murder  for  its  possession.  The  stone,  which  you 
have  just  been  good  enough  to  allow  me  to  inspect, 
is  no  diamond,  but  a  carefully  manufactured  bit  of 
paste  not  worth  the  rich  and  elaborate  setting  which 
has  been  given  to  it.  I  am  sorry  to  be  the  one  to 
say  this,  but  I  have  made  a  study  of  precious 
stones,  and  I  can  not  let  this  bare-faced  imitation 
pass  through  my  hands  without  a  protest.  Mr. 
Ramsdell,"  this  to  our  host,  "I  beg  you  will  allow 
me  to  utter  my  excuses,  and  depart  at  once.  My 
daughter  is  worse, — this  I  know,  as  certainly  as 
that  I  am  standing  here.  The  cry  you  have  heard 

90 


SUPERSTITION 

is  the  one  superstition  of  our  family.     Pray  God 
that  I  find  her  alive!" 

After  this,  what  could  be  said?  Though  no  one 
who  had  heard  him,  not  even  my  own  romantic  self, 
showed  any  belief  in  this  interpretation  of  the  re 
markable  sound  that  had  just  gone  thrilling 
through  the  house,  yet,  in  face  of  his  declared  ac 
ceptance  of  it  as  a  warning,  and  the  fact  that  all 
efforts  had  failed  to  locate  the  sound,  or  even  to  de 
termine  its  source,  no  other  course  seemed  open  but 
to  let  this  distinguished  man  depart  with  the  sud 
denness  his  superstitious  fears  demanded. 

That  this  was  in  opposition  to  the  inspector's 
wishes  was  evident  enough.  Naturally,  he  would 
have  preferred  Mr,  Grey  to  remain,  if  only  to  make 
clear  his  surprising  conclusions  in  regard  to  a  dia 
mond  which  had  passed  through  the  hands  of  some 
of  the  best  judges  in  the  country,  without  a  doubt 
having  been  raised  as  to  its  genuineness. 

With  his  departure  the  inspector's  manner 
changed.  He  glanced  at  the  stone  in  his  hand, 
and  slowly  shook  his  head. 

91 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"I  doubt  if  Mr.  Grey's  judgment  can  be  de 
pended  on,  to-night,"  said  he,  and  pocketed  the 
gem  as  carefully  as  if  his  belief  in  its  real  value 
had  been  but  little  disturbed  by  the  assertions  of 
this  renowned  foreigner. 

I  have  no  distinct  remembrance  of  how  I  finally 
left  the  house,  or  of  what  passed  between  my  uncle 
and  myself  on  our  way  home.  I  was  numb  with  the 
shock,  and  neither  my  intelligence  nor  my  feelings 
were  any  longer  active.  I  recall  but  one  impres 
sion,  and  that  was  the  effect  made  on  me  by  my 
old  home  on  our  arrival  there,  as  of  something  new 
and  strange;  so  much  had  happened,  and  such 
changes  had  taken  place  in  myself  since  leaving  it 
five  hours  before.  But  nothing  else  is  vivid  in  my 
remembrance  till  that  early  hour  of  the  dreary  morn 
ing,  when,  on  waking  to  the  world  with  a  cry,  I  be 
held  my  uncle's  anxious  figure,  bending  over  me 
from  the  foot-board. 

Instantly  I  found  tongue,  and  question  after 
question  leaped  from  my  lips.  He  did  not  answer 
them;  he  could  not;  but  when  I  grew  feverish  and 

92 


SUPERSTITION 

insistent,  he  drew  the  morning  paper  from  behind 
his  back,  and  laid  it  quietly  down  within  my  reach. 
I  felt  calmed  in  an  instant,  and  when,  after  a  few 
affectionate  words,  he  left  me  to  myself,  I  seized  on 
the  sheet  and  read  what  so  many  others  were  read 
ing  at  that  moment  throughout  the  city. 

I  spare  you  the  account  so  far  as  it  coincides 
with  what  I  had  myself  seen  and  heard  the  night 
before.  A  few  particulars  which  had  not  reached 
my  ears  will  interest  you.  The  instrument  of  death 
found  in  the  place  designated  by  Mr.  Durand  was 
one  of  note  to  such  as  had  any  taste  or  knowledge 
of  curios.  It  was  a  stiletto  of  the  most  delicate 
type,  long,  keen  and  slender.  Not  an  American 
product,  not  even  of  this  century's  manufacture, 
but  a  relic  of  the  days  when  deadly  thrusts  were 
given  in  the  corners  and  by-ways  of  medieval 
streets. 

This  made  the  first  mystery. 

The  second  was  the  as  yet  unexplainable  pres 
ence,  on  the  alcove  floor,  of  two  broken  coffee-cups, 
which  no  waiter  nor  any  other  person,  in  fact, 

93 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

admitted  having  carried  there.  The  tray,  which 
had  fallen  from  Peter  Mooney's  hand, — the  waiter 
who  had  been  the  first  to  give  the  alarm  of  mur 
der, — had  held  no  cups,  only  ices.  This  was  a  fact, 
proved.  But  the  handles  of  two  cups  had  been 
found  among  the  debris, — cups  which  must  have 
been  full,  from  the  size  of  the  coffee  stain  left  on 
the  rug  where  they  had  fallen. 

In  reading  this  I  remembered  that  Mr.  Durand 
had  mentioned  stepping  on  some  broken  pieces  of 
china  in  his  escape  from  the  fatal  scene,  and, 
struck  with  this  confirmation  of  a  theory  which  was 
slowly  taking  form  in  my  own  mind,  I  passed  on 
to  the  next  paragraph,  with  a  sense  of  expectation. 

The  result  was  a  surprise.  Others  may  have 
been  told,  I  was  not,  that  Mrs.  Fairbrother  had  re 
ceived  a  communication  from  outside  only  a  few 
minutes  previous  to  her  death.  A  Mr.  Fullerton, 
who  had  preceded  Mr.  Durand  in  his  visit  to  the 
alcove,  owned  to  having  opened  the  window  for  her 
at  some  call  or  signal  from  outside,  and  taken  in  a 
small  piece  of  paper  which  he  saw  lifted  up  from  be- 


SUPERSTITION 

low  on  the  end  of  a  whip  handle.  He  could  not  see 
who  held  the  whip,  but  at  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  en 
treaty  he  unpinned  the  note  and  gave  it  to  her. 
While  she  was  puzzling  over  it,  for  it  was  appar 
ently  far  from  legible,  he  took  another  look  out  in 
time  to  mark  a  figure  rush  from  below  toward  the 
carriage  drive.  He  did  not  recognize  the  figure 
nor  would  he  know  it  again.  As  to  the  nature  of  the 
communication  itself  he  could  say  nothing,  save 
that  Mrs.  Fairbrother  did  not  seem  to  be  affected 
favorably  by  it.  She  frowned  and  was  looking 
very  gloomy  when  he  left  the  alcove.  Asked  if  he 
had  pulled  the  curtains  together  after  closing  the 
window,  he  said  that  he  had  not ;  that  she  had  not 
requested  him  to  do  so. 

This  story,  which  was  certainly  a  strange  one, 
had  been  confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  the  coach 
man  who  had  lent  his  whip  for  the  purpose.  This 
coachman,  who  was  known  to  be  a  man  of  ex 
treme  good  nature,  had  seen  no  harm  in  lending  his 
whip  to  a  poor  devil  who  wished  to  give  a  telegram 
or  some  such  hasty  message  to  the  lady  sitting  just 

95 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

above  them  in  a  lighted  window.  The  wind  was 
fierce  and  the  snow  blinding,  and  it  was  natural  that 
the  man  should  duck  his  head,  but  he  remembered 
his  appearance  well  enough  to  say  that  he  was  either 
very  cold  or  very  much  done  up  and  that  he  wore 
a  greatcoat  with  the  collar  pulled  up  about  his  ears. 
When  he  came  back  with  the  whip  he  seemed  more 
cheerful  than  when  he  asked  for  it,  but  had  no 
"thank  you"  for  the  favor  done  him,  or  if  he  had, 
it  was  lost  in  his  throat  and  the  piercing  gale. 

The  communication,  which  was  regarded  by  the 
police  as  a  matter  of  the  highest  importance,  had 
been  found  in  her  hand  by  the  coroner.  It  was  a 
mere  scrawl  written  in  pencil  on  a  small  scrap  of 
paper.  The  following  facsimile  of  the  scrawl  was 
given  to  the  public  in  the  hope  that  some  one  would 
recognize  the  handwriting. 


96 


SUPERSTITION 

The  first  two  lines  overlapped  and  were  confused, 
but  the  last  one  was  clear  enough.  Expect  trouble 
if —  If  what?  Hundreds  were  asking  the  question 
and  at  this  very  moment.  I  should  soon  be  asking 
it,  too,  but  first,  I  must  make  an  effort  to  under 
stand  the  situation, — a  situation  which  up  to  now 
appeared  to  involve  Mr.  Durand,  and  Mr.  Durand 
only,  as  the  suspected  party. 

This  was  no  more  than  I  expected,  yet  it  came 
with  a  shock  under  the  broad  glare  of  this  wintry 
morning;  so  impossible  did  it  seem  in  the  light  of 
every-day  life  that  guilt  could  be  associated  in 
any  one's  mind  with  a  man  of  such  unblemished 
record  and  excellent  standing.  But  the  evidence 
adduced  against  him  was  of  a  kind  to  appeal  to  the 
common  mind — we  all  know  that  evidence — nor 
could  I  say,  after  reading  the  full  account,  that  I 
was  myself  unaffected  by  its  seeming  weight.  Not 
that  my  faith  in  his  innocence  was  shaken.  I  had 
met  his  look  of  love  and  tender  gratitude  and  my 
confidence  in  him  had  been  restored,  but  I  saw,  with 
all  the  clearness  of  a  mind  trained  by  continuous 

97 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

study,  how  difficult  it  was  going  to  be  to  counteract 
the  prejudice  induced,  first,  by  his  own  inconsider 
ate  acts,  especially  by  that  unfortunate  attempt  of 
his  to  secrete  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  gloves  in  another 
woman's  bag,  and  secondly,  by  his  peculiar  ex 
planations — explanations  which  to  many  must 
seem  forced  and  unnatural. 

I  saw  and  felt  nerved  to  a  superhuman  task.  I 
believed  him  innocent,  and  if  others  failed  to  prove 
him  so,  I  would  undertake  to  clear  him  myself, — I, 
the  little  Rita,  with  no  experience  of  law  or  courts 
or  crime,  but  with  simply  an  unbounded  faith  in 
the  man  suspected  and  in  the  keenness  of  my  own 
insight, — an  insight  which  had  already  served  me 
so  well  and  would  serve  me  yet  better,  once  I  had 
mastered  the  details  which  must  be  the  prelude  to  all 
intelligent  action. 

The  morning's  report  stopped  with  the  explana 
tions  given  by  Mr.  Durand  of  the  appearances 
against  him.  Consequently  no  word  appeared  of 
the  after  events  which  had  made  such  an  impression 
at  the  time  on  all  the  persons  present.  Mr.  Grey 

98 


SUPERSTITION 

was  mentioned,  but  simply  as  one  of  the  guests, 
and  to  no  one  reading  this  early  morning  issue 
would  any  doubt  come  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the 
diamond  which,  to  all  appearance,  had  been  the 
leading  motive  in  the  commission  of  this  great 
crime. 

The  effect  on  my  own  mind  of  this  suppression 
was  a  curious  one.  I  began  to  wonder  if  the  whole 
event  had  not  been  a  chimera  of  my  disturbed  brain 
— a  nightmare  which  had  visited  me,  and  me  alone, 
and  not  a  fact  to  be  reckoned  with.  But  a  moment's 
further  thought  served  to  clear  my  mind  of  all  such 
doubts,  and  I  perceived  that  the  police  had  only 
exercised  common  prudence  in  withholding  Mr. 
Grey's  sensational  opinion  of  the  stone  till  it  could 
be  verified  by  experts. 

The  two  columns  of  gossip  devoted  to  the  family 
differences  which  had  led  to  the  separation  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Fairbrother,  I  shall  compress  into  a  few 
lines.  They  had  been  married  three  years  before  in 
the  city  of  Baltimore.  He  was  a  rich  man  then, 
but  not  the  multimillionaire  he  is  to-day.  Plain- 

99 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

featured  and  without  manner,  lie  was  no  mate  for 
this  sparkling  coquette,  whose  charm  was  of  the 
kind  which  grows  with  exercise.  Though  no  actual 
scandal  was  ever  associated  with  her  name,  he  grew 
tired  of  her  caprices,  and  the  conquests  which  she 
made  no  endeavor  to  hide  either  from  him  or  from 
the  world  at  large;  and  at  some  time  during  the 
previous  year  they  had  come  to  a  friendly  under 
standing  which  led  to  their  living  apart,  each  in 
grand  style  and  with  a  certain  deference  to  the  pro 
prieties  which  retained  them  their  friends  and  an 
enviable  place  in  society.  He  was  not  often  invited 
where  she  was,  and  she  never  appeared  in  any  as 
semblage  where  he  was  expected;  but  with  this  ex 
ception,  little  feeling  was  shown;  matters  pro 
gressed  smoothly,  and  to  their  credit,  let  it  be  said, 
no  one  ever  heard  either  of  them  speak  otherwise 
than  considerately  of  the  other.  He  was  at  present 
out  of  town,  having  started  some  three  weeks  before 
for  the  southwest,  but  would  probably  return  on  re 
ceipt  of  the  telegram  which  had  been  sent  him. 
The  comments  made  on  the  murder  were  neces- 
100 


SUPERSTITION 

sarily  hurried.  It  was -called  a  mystery,  but  ;t  was 
evident  enough  that  Mr.  Durand's  detention  was 
looked  on  as  the  almost  certain  prelude  to  his  arrest 
on  the  charge  of  murder. 

I  had  had  some  discipline  in  life.  Although  a 
favorite  of  my  wealthy  uncle,  I  had  given  up  very 
early  the  prospects  he  held  out  to  me  of  a  continued 
enjoyment  of  his  bounty,  and  entered  on  duties 
which  required  self-denial  and  hard  work.  I  did 
this  because  I  enjoy  having  both  my  mind  and  heart 
occupied.  To  be  necessary  to  some  one,  as  a  nurse 
is  to  a  patient,  seemed  to  me  an  enviable  fate  till 
I  came  under  the  influence  of  Anson  Durand.  Then 
the  craving  of  all  women  for  the  common  lot  of 
their  sex  became  my  craving  also ;  a  craving,  how 
ever,  to  which  I  failed  at  first  to  yield,  for  I  felt 
that  it  was  unshared,  and  thus  a  token  of  weakness. 
Fighting  my  battle,  I  succeeded  in  winning  it,  as 
I  thought,  just  as  the  nurse's  diploma  was  put  in 
my  hands.  Then  came  the  great  surprise  of  my 
life.  Anson  Durand  expressed  his  love  for  me  and 
I  awoke  to  the  fact  that  all  my  preparation  had 
101 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

been  for  home  joys  and'  i»  woman's  true  existence. 
One  botxr  of  Ecstasy  iii  the  light  of  this  new  hope, 
then  tragedy  and  something  approaching  chaos! 
Truly  I  had  been  through  a  schooling.  But  was 
it  one  to  make  me  useful  in  the  only  way  I  could  be 
useful  now?  I  did  not  know;  I  did  not  care;  I 
was  determined  on  my  course,  fit  or  unfit,  and,  in 
the  relief  brought  by  this  appeal  to  my  energy,  I 
rose  and  dressed  and  went  about  the  duties  of  the 
day. 

One  of  these  was  to  determine  whether  Mr.  Grey, 
on  his  return  to  his  hotel,  had  found  his  daughter 
as  ill  as  his  fears  had  foreboded.  A  telephone  mes 
sage  or  two  satisfied  me  on  this  point.  Miss  Grey 
was  very  ill,  but  not  considered  dangerously  so ;  in 
deed,  if  anything,  her  condition  was  improved,  and 
if  nothing  happened  in  the  way  of  fresh  complica 
tions,  the  prospects  were  that  she  would  be  out  in  a 
fortnight. 

I  was  not  surprised.  It  was  more  than  I  had 
expected.  The  cry  of  the  banshee  in  an  American 
house  was  past  belief,  even  in  an  atmosphere  sur- 
102 


SUPERSTITION 

charged  with  fear  and  all  the  horror  surrounding 
a  great  crime;  and  in  the  secret  reckoning  I  was 
making  against  a  person  I  will  not  even  name  at 
this  juncture,  I  added  it  as  another  suspicious  cir 
cumstance. 


103 


VI 


SUSPENSE 

To  relate  the  full  experiences  of  the  next  few 
days  would  be  to  encumber  my  narrative  with  un 
necessary  detail. 

I  did  not  see  Mr.  Durand  again.  My  uncle,  so 
amenable  in  most  matters,  proved  inexorable  on 
this  point.  Till  Mr.  Durand's  good  name  should  be 
restored  by  the  coroner's  verdict,  or  such  evidence 
brought  to  light  as  should  effectually  place  him 
beyond  all  suspicion,  I  was  to  hold  no  communica 
tion  with  him  of  any  sort  whatever.  I  remember  the 
very  words  with  which  my  uncle  ended  the  one  ex 
haustive  conversation  we  had  on  the  subject.  They 
were  these : 

"You  have  fully  expressed  to  Mr.  Durand  your 
entire  confidence  in  his  innocence.    That  must  suf 
fice  him  for  the  present.  If  he  is  the  honest  gentle 
man  you  think  him,  it  will." 
104 


SUSPENSE 

As  uncle  seldom  asserted  himself,  and  as  he  is 
very  much  in  earnest  when  he  does,  I  made  no  at 
tempt  to  combat  this  resolution,  especially  as  it  met 
the  approval  of  my  better  judgment.  But  though 
my  power  to  convey  sympathy  fell  thus  under  a 
yoke,  my  thoughts  and  feelings  remained  free,  and 
these  were  all  consecrated  to  the  man  struggling 
under  an  imputation,  the  disgrace  and  humiliation 
of  which  he  was  but  poorly  prepared,  by  his  former 
easy  life  of  social  and  business  prosperity,  to  meet. 

For  Mr.  Durand,  in  spite  of  the  few  facts  which 
came  up  from  time  to  time  in  confirmation  of  his 
story,  continued  to  be  almost  universally  regarded 
as  a  suspect. 

This  seemed  to  me  very  unjust.  What  if  no  other 
clue  offered — no  other  clue,  I  mean,  recognized  as 
such  by  police  or  public!  Was  he  not  to  have  the 
benefit  of  whatever  threw  a  doubt  on  his  own  culpa 
bility?  For  instance,  that  splash  of  blood  on  his 
shirt-front,  which  I  had  seen,  and  the  shape  of 
which  I  knew !  Why  did  not  the  fact  that  it  was  a 
splash  and  not  a  spatter  (and  spatter  it  would 
105 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

have  been  had  it  spurted  there,  instead  of  falling 
from  above,  as  he  stated),  count  for  more  in  the 
minds  of  those  whose  business  it  was  to  probe  into 
the  very  heart  of  this  crime  ?  To  me,  it  told  such  a 
tale  of  innocence  that  I  wondered  how  a  man  like 
the  inspector  could  pass  over  it.  But  later  I  under 
stood.  A  single  word  enlightened  me.  The  stain,  it 
was  true,  was  in  the  form  of  a  splash  and  not  a 
spurt,  but  a  splash  would  have  been  the  result  of  a 
drop  falling  from  the  reeking  end  of  the  stiletto, 
whether  it  dislodged  itself  early  or  late.  And  what 
was  there  to  prove  that  this  drop  had  not  fallen  at 
the  instant  the  stiletto  was  being  thrust  into  the 
lantern,  instead  of  after  the  escape  of  the  criminal, 
and  the  entrance  of  another  man  ? 

But  the  mystery  of  the  broken  coffee-cups !  For 
that  no  explanation  seemed  to  be  forthcoming. 

And  the  still  unsolved  one  of  the  written  warning 
found  in  the  murdered  woman's  hand — a  warning 
which  had  been  deciphered  to  read:  "Be  warned! 
He  means  to  be  at  the  ball!  Expect  trouble  if — " 
Was  that  to  be  looked  upon  as  directed  against  ft 
106 


SUSPENSE 

man  who,  from  the  nature  of  his  projected  attempt, 
would  take  no  one  into  his  confidence  ? 

Then  the  stiletto — a  photographic  reproduction 
of  which  was  in  all  the  papers — was  that  the  kind 
of  instrument  which  a  plain  New  York  gentleman 
would  be  likely  to  use  in  a  crime  of  this  nature?  It 
was  a  marked  and  unique  article,  capable,  as  one 
would  think,  of  being  easily  traced  to  its  owner. 
Had  it  been  claimed  by  Mr.  Ramsdell,  had  it  been 
recognized  as  one  of  the  many  works  of  art  scattered 
about  the  highly-decorated  alcove,  its  employment 
as  a  means  of  death  would  have  gone  only  to  prove 
the  possibly  unpremeditated  nature  of  the  crime, 
and  so  been  valueless  as  the  basis  of  an  argument  in 
favor  of  Mr.  Durand's  innocence.  But  Mr.  Rams- 
dell  had  disclaimed  from  the  first  all  knowledge  of 
it,  consequently  one  could  but  feel  justified  in  ask 
ing  whether  a  man  of  Mr.  Durand's  judgment 
would  choose  such  an  extraordinary  weapon  in 
meditating  so  startling  a  crime — a  crime  which 
from  its  nature  and  circumstance  could  not  fail  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  whole  civilized  world. 
107 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

Another  argument,  advanced  by  himself  and  sub 
scribed  to  by  all  his  friends,  was  this :  That  a  dealer 
in  precious  stones  would  be  the  kst  man  to  seek  by 
any  unlawful  means  to  possess  so  conspicuous  a 
jewel.  For  he,  better  than  any  one  else,  would 
know  the  impossibility  of  disposing  of  a  gem  of 
this  distinction  in  any  market  short  of  the  Orient. 
To  which  the  unanswerable  reply  was  made  that  no 
one  attributed  to  him  any  such  folly ;  that  if  he  had 
planned  to  possess  himself  of  this  great  diamond, 
it  was  for  the  purpose  of  eliminating  it  from  com 
petition  with  the  one  he  had  procured  for  Mr. 
Smythe;  an  argument,  certainly,  which  drove  us 
back  on  the  only  plea  we  had  at  our  command — his 
hitherto  unblemished  reputation  and  the  confidence 
which  was  felt  in  him  by  those  who  knew  him. 

But  the  one  circumstance  which  affected  me  most 
at  the  time,  and  which  undoubtedly  was  the  source 
of  the  greatest  confusion  to  all  minds,  whether  of 
ficial  or  otherwise,  was  the  unexpected  confirmation 
by  experts  of  Mr.  Grey's  opinion  in  regard  to  the 
diamond.  His  name  was  not  used,  indeed  it  had  been 
108 


SUSPENSE 

kept  out  of  the  papers  with  the  greatest  unanimity, 
but  the  hint  he  had  given  the  inspector  at  Mr. 
Ramsdell's  ball  had  been  acted  upon  and,  the  proper 
tests  having  been  made,  the  stone,  for  which  so 
many  believed  a  life  to  have  been  risked  and  another 
taken,  was  declared  to  be  an  imitation, — fine  and 
successful  beyond  all  parallel,  but  still  an  imita 
tion, — of  the  great  and  renowned  gem  which  had 
passed  through  Tiffany's  hands  a  twelve-month  be 
fore:  a  decision  which  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on  all 
such  as  had  seen  the  diamond  blazing  in  unap 
proachable  brilliancy  on  the  breast  of  the  unhappy 
Mrs.  Fairbrother  only  an  hour  or  two  before  her 
death. 

On  me  the  effect  was  such  that  for  days  I  lived  in 
a  dream, — a  condition  that,  nevertheless,  did  not 
prevent  me  from  starting  a  certain  little  inquiry  of 
my  own,  of  which  more  hereafter. 

Here  let  me  say  that  I  did  not  share  the  general 

confusion  on  this  topic.   I  had  my  own  theory,  both 

as  to  the  cause  of  this  substitution  and  the  moment 

when  it  was  made.   But  the  time  had  not  yet  come 

109 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

for  me  to  advance  it.  I  could  only  stand  back  and 
listen  to  the  suppositions  aired  by  the  press,  suppo 
sitions  which  fomented  so  much  private  discussion 
that  ere  long  the  one  question  most  frequently  heard 
in  this  connection  was  not  who  struck  the  blow 
which  killed  Mrs.  Fairbrother  (this  was  a  question 
which  some  seemed  to  think  settled),  but  whose 
juggling  hand  had  palmed  off  the  paste  for  the  dia 
mond,  and  how  and  when  and  where  had  the  jug 
glery  taken  place? 

Opinions  on  this  point  were,  as  I  have  said,  many 
and  various.  Some  fixed  upon  the  moment  of  ex 
change  as  that  very  critical  and  hardly  appreciable 
one  elapsing  between  the  murder  and  Mr.  Durand's 
appearance  upon  the  scene.  This  theory,  I  need  not 
say,  was  advanced  by  such  as  believed  that  while 
he  was  not  guilty  of  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  murder,  he 
had  been  guilty  of  taking  advantage  of  the  same 
to  rob  the  body  of  what,  in  the  terror  and  excite 
ment  of  the  moment,  he  evidently  took  to  be  her 
great  gem.  To  others,  among  whom  were  many  eye 
witnesses  of  the  event,  it  appeared  to  be  a  conceded 
110 


SUSPENSE 

fact  that  this  substitution  had  been  made  prior  to 
the  ball  and  with  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  full  cogni 
zance.  The  effectual  way  in  which  she  had  wielded 
her  fan  between  the  glittering  ornament  on  her 
breast  and  the  inquisitive  glances  constantly  leveled 
upon  it  might  at  the  time  have  been  due  to  coquetry, 
but  to  them  it  looked  much  more  like  an  expres 
sion  of  fear  lest  the  deception  in  which  she  was 
indulging  should  be  discovered.  No  one  fixed  the 
time  where  I  did ;  but  then,  no  one  but  myself  had 
watched  the  scene  with  the  eyes  of  love;  besides, 
and  this  must  be  remembered,  most  people,  among 
whom  I  ventured  to  count  the  police  officials,  were 
mainly  interested  in  proving  Mr.  Durand  guilty, 
while  I,  with  contrary  mind,  was  bent  on  establish 
ing  such  facts  as  confirmed  the  explanations  he  had 
been  pleased  to  give  us,  explanations  which  necessi 
tated  a  conviction,  on  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  part,  of 
the  great  value  of  the  jewel  she  wore,  and  the  con 
sequent  advisability  of  ridding  herself  of  it  tempo 
rarily,  if,  as  so  many  believed,  the  full  letter  of  the 
warning  should  read :  "Be  warned,  he  means  to  be 

in 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

at  the  ball.  Expect  trouble  if  you  are  found  wear 
ing  the  great  diamond." 

True,  she  may  herself  have  been  deceived  concern 
ing  it.  Unconsciously  to  herself,  she  may  have  been 
the  victim  of  a  daring  fraud  on  the  part  of  some 
hanger-on  who  had  access  to  her  jewels,  but,  as  no 
such  evidence  had  yet  come  to  life,  as  she  had  no 
recognized,  or,  so  far  as  could  be  learned,  secret 
lover  or  dishonest  dependent;  and,  moreover,  as 
no  gem  of  such  unusual  value  was  known  to  have 
been  offered  within  the  year,  here  or  abroad,  in 
public  or  private  market,  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  credit  this  assumption;  possibly  because  I  was 
so  ignorant  as  to  credit  another,  and  a  different  one, 
— one  which  you  have  already  seen  growing  in  my 
mind,  and  which,  presumptuous  as  it  was,  kept  my 
courage  from  failing  through  all  those  dreadful 
days  of  enforced  waiting  and  suspense.  For  I  was 
determined  not  to  intrude  my  suggestions,  valuable 
as  I  considered  them,  till  all  hope  was  gone  of  his 
being  righted  by  the  judgment  of  those  who  would 
not  lightly  endure  the  interference  of  such  an  in- 
112 


SUSPENSE 

significant  mote  in  the  great  scheme  of  justice  as 
myself. 

The  inquest,  which  might  be  trusted  to  bring  out 
all  these  doubtful  points,  had  been  delayed  in  antici 
pation  of  Mr.  Fairbrother's  return.  His  testimony 
could  not  but  prove  valuable,  if  not  in' fixing  the 
criminal,  at  least  in  settling  the  moot  point  as  to 
whether  the  stone,  which  the  estranged  wife  had  car 
ried  away  with  her  on  leaving  the  house,  had  been 
the  genuine  one  returned  to  him  from  Tiffany's  or 
the  well-known  imitation  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
police.  He  had  been  located  somewhere  in  the 
mountains  of  lower  Colorado,  but,  strange  to  say,  it 
had  been  found  impossible  to  enter  into  direct  com 
munication  with  him ;  nor  was  it  known  whether  he 
was  aware  as  yet  of  his  wife's  tragic  death.  So 
affairs  went  slowly  in  New  York  and  the  case  seemed 
to  come  to  a  standstill,  when  public  opinion  was 
suddenly  reawakened  and  a  more  definite  turn  given 
to  the  whole  matter  by  a  despatch  from  Santa  Fe 
to  the  Associated  Press.  This  despatch  was  to  the 
effect  that  Abner  Fairbrother  had  passed  through 
113 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that  city  some  three  days  before  on  his  way  to  his 
new  mining  camp,  the  Placide ;  that  he  then  showed 
symptoms  of  pneumonia,  and  from  advices  since  re 
ceived  might  be  regarded  as  a  very  sick  man. 

Ill, — well,  that  explained  matters.  His  silence, 
which  many  had  taken  for  indifference,  was  that 
of  a  man  physically  disabled  and  unfit  for  exertion 
of  any  kind.  HI, — a  tragic  circumstance  which 
roused  endless  conjecture.  Was  he  aware,  or  was  he 
not  aware,  of  his  wife's  death?  Had  he  been  taken 
ill  before  or  after  he  left  Colorado  for  New  Mexico? 
Was  he  suffering  mainly  from  shock,  or,  as  would 
appear  from  his  complaint,  from  a  too  rapid  change 
of  climate? 

The  whole  country  seethed  with  excitement,  and 
my  poor  little  unthought-of,  insignificant  self 
burned  with  impatience,  which  only  those  who  have 
been  subjected  to  a  like  suspense  can  properly  esti 
mate.  Would  the  proceedings  which  were  awaited 
with  so  much  anxiety  be  further  delayed?  Would 
Mr.  Durand  remain  indefinitely  in  durance  and  un 
der  such  a  cloud  of  disgrace  as  would  kill  some  men 


SUSPENSE 

and  might  kill  him?  Should  I  be  called  upon  to 
endure  still  longer  the  suffering  which  this  entailed 
upon  me,  when  I  thought  I  knew — 

But  fortune  was  less  obdurate  than  I  feared. 
Next  morning  a  telegraphic  statement  from  Santa 
Fe  settled  one  of  the  points  of  this  great  dispute, 
a  statement  which  you  will  find  detailed  at  more 
length  in  the  following  communication,  which  ap 
peared  a  few  days  later  in  one  of  our  most  enter 
prising  journals. 

It  was  from  a  resident  correspondent  in  New 
Mexico,  and  was  written,  as  the  editor  was  careful 
to  say,  for  his  own  eyes  and  not  for  the  public.  He 
had  ventured,  however,  to  give  it  in  full,  knowing 
the  great  interest  which  this  whole  subject  had  for 
his  readers. 


115 


VII 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

Not  to  be  outdone  by  the  editor,  I  insert  the  ar 
ticle  here  with  all  its  details,  the  importance  of 
which  I  trust  I  have  anticipated. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  April  — . 

Arrived  in  Santa  Fe,  I  inquired  where  Abner 
Fairbrother  could  be  found.  I  was  told  that  he  was 
at  his  mine,  sick. 

Upon  inquiring  as  to  the  location  of  the  Placide, 
I  was  informed  that  it  was  fifteen  miles  or  so  dis 
tant  in  the  mountains,  and  upon  my  expressing  an 
intention  of  going  there  immediately,  I  was  given 
what  I  thought  very  unnecessary  advice  and  then 
directed  to  a  certain  livery  stable,  where  I  was  told 
I  could  get  the  right  kind  of  a  horse  and  such 
equipment  as  I  stood  in  need  of. 
116 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

I  thought  I  was  equipped  all  right  as  it  was,  but 
I  said  nothing  and  went  on  to  the  livery  stable. 
Here  I  was  shown  a  horse  which  I  took  to  at  once 
and  was  about  to  mount,  when  a  pair  of  leggings 
was  brought  to  me. 

"You  will  need  these  for  jour  journey,"  said  the 
man. 

"Journey !"  I  repeated.   "Fifteen  miles !" 

The  livery  stable  keeper — a  half-breed  with  a 
peculiarly  pleasant  smile — cocked  up  his  shoulders 
with  the  remark : 

"Three  men  as  willing  but  as  inexperienced  as 
yourself  have  attempted  the  same  journey  during 
the  last  week  and  they  all  came  back  before  they 
reached  the  divide.  You  will  probably  come  back, 
too ;  but  I  shall  give  you  as  fair  a  start  as  if  I  knew 
you  were  going  straight  through." 

"But  a  woman  has  done  it,"  said  I ;  "a  nurse  from 
the  hospital  went  up  that  very  road  last  week." 

"Oh,  women !  they  can  do  anything — women  who 
are  nurses.  But  they  don't  start  off  alone.  You  are 
going  alone." 

117 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Yes,"  I  remarked  grimly.  "Newspaper  corre 
spondents  make  their  journeys  singly  when  they 
can." 

"Oh !  you  are  a  newspaper  correspondent !  Why 
do  so  many  men  from  the  papers  want  to  see  that 
sick  old  man?  Because  he's  so  rich?" 

"Don't  you  know?"  I  asked. 

He  did  not  seem  to. 

I  wondered  at  his  ignorance  but  did  not  enlighten 
him. 

"Follow  the  trail  and  ask  your  way  from  time  to 
time.  All  the  goatherds  know  where  the  Placide 
mine  is." 

Such  were  his  simple  instructions  as  he  headed  my 
horse  toward  the  canyon.  But  as  I  drew  off,  he 
shouted  out : 

"If  you  get  stuck,  leave  it  to  the  horse.  He 
knows  more  about  it  than  you  do." 

With  a  vague  gesture  toward  the  northwest,  he 
turned  away,  leaving  me  in  contemplation  of  the 
grandest  scenery  I  had  yet  come  upon  in  all  my 
travels. 

118 


NIGHT    AND    A   VOICE 

Fifteen  miles!  but  those  miles  lay  through  the 
very  heart  of  the  mountains,  ranging  anywhere 
from  six  to  seven  thousand  feet  high.  In  ten  min 
utes  the  city  and  all  signs  of  city  life  were  out  of 
sight.  In  five  more  I  was  seemingly  as  far  removed 
from  all  civilization  as  if  I  had  gone  a  hundred 
miles  into  the  wilderness. 

As  my  horse  settled  down  to  work,  picking  his 
way,  now  here  and  now  there,  sometimes  over  the 
brown  earth,  hard  and  baked  as  in  a  thousand  fur 
naces,  and  sometimes  over  the  stunted  grass  whose 
needle-like  stalks  seemed  never  to  have  known  mois 
ture,  I  let  my  eyes  roam  to  such  peaks  as  were  not 
cut  off  from  view  by  the  nearer  hillsides,  and  won 
dered  whether  the  snow  which  capped  them  was 
whiter  than  any  other  or  the  blue  of  the  sky  bluer, 
that  the  two  together  had  the  effect  upon  me  of 
cameo  work  on  a  huge  and  unapproachable  scale. 

Certainly  the  effect  of  these  grand  mountains, 
into  which  you  leap  without  any  preparation  from 
the  streets  and  market-places  of  America's  oldest 
city,  is  such  as  is  not  easily  described. 

119 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

We  struck  water  now  and  then, — narrow  water 
courses  which  my  horse  followed  in  mid  stream, 
and,  more  interesting  yet,  goatherds  with  thej 
flocks,  Mexicans  all,  who  seemed  to  understand  no 
English,  but  were  picturesque  enough  to  look  at 
and  a  welcome  break  in  the  extreme  lonesomeness  of 
the  way. 

I  had  been  told  that  they  would  serve  me  as  guides 
if  I  felt  at  all  doubtful  of  the  trail,  and  in  one  or 
two  instances  they  proved  to  be  of  decided  help. 
They  could  gesticulate,  if  they  could  not  speak 
English,  and  when  I  tried  them  with  the  one  word 
Placide  they  would  nod  and  point  out  which  of  the 
many  side  canyons  I  was  to  follow.  But  they  al 
ways  looked  up  as  they  did  so,  up,  up,  till  I  took  to 
looking  up,  too,  and  when,  after  miles  multiplied 
indefinitely  by  the  winding  of  the  trail,  I  came  out 
upon  a  ledge  from  which  a  full  view  of  the  opposite 
range  could  be  had,  and  saw  fronting  me,  from  the 
side  of  one  of  its  tremendous  peaks,  the  gap  of  a 
vast  hole  not  two  hundred  feet  from  the  snow-line, 
I  knew  that,  inaccessible  as  it  looked,  I  was  gazing 
120 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

up  at  the  opening  of  Abner  Fairbrother's  new  mine, 
the  Placide. 

The  experience  was  a  strange  one.  The  two 
ranges  approached  so  nearly  that  it  seemed  as  if  a 
ball  might  be  tossed  from  one  to  the  other.  But 
the  chasm  between  was  stupendous.  I  grew  dizzy  as 
I  looked  downward  and  saw  the  endless  zigzags  yet 
to  be  traversed  step  by  step  before  the  bottom  of 
the  canyon  could  be  reached,  and  then  the  equally 
interminable  zigzags  up  the  acclivity  beyond,  all  of 
which  I  must  trace,  still  step  by  step,  before  I  could 
hope  to  arrive  at  the  camp  which,  from  where  I 
stood,  looked  to  be  almost  within  hail  of  my  voice. 

I  have  described  the  mine  as  a  hole.  That  was 
all  I  saw  at  first — a  great  black  hole  in  the  dark 
brown  earth  of  the  mountain-side,  from  which  ran 
down  a  still  darker  streak  into  the  waste  places  far 
below  it.  But  as  I  looked  longer  I  saw  that  it  was 
faced  by  a  ledge  cut  out  of  the  friable  soil,  on 
which  I  was  now  able  to  descry  the  pronounced 
white  of  two  or  three  tent-tops  and  some  other  signs 
of  life,  encouraging  enough  to  the  eye  of  one  whose 
121 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

lot  it  was  to  crawl  like  a  fly  up  that  tremendous 
mountain-side. 

Truly  I  could  understand  why  those  three  men, 
probably  newspaper  correspondents  like  myself,  had 
turned  back  to  Santa  Fe,  after  a  glance  from  my 
present  outlook.  But  though  I  understood  I  did 
not  mean  to  duplicate  their  retreat. 

The  sight  of  those  tents,  the  thought  of  what 
one  of  them  contained,  inspired  me  with  new  cour 
age,  and,  releasing  my  grip  upon  the  rein,  I  al 
lowed  my  patient  horse  to  proceed. 

Shortly  after  this  I  passed  the  divide — that  is 
where  the  water  sheds  both  ways — then  the  descent 
began.  It  was  zigzag,  just  as  the  climb  had  been, 
but  I  preferred  the  climb.  I  did  not  have  the  un 
fathomable  spaces  so  constantly  before  me,  nor  was 
my  imagination  so  active.  It  was  fixed  on  heights  to 
be  attained  rather  than  on  valleys  to  roll  into. 
However,  I  did  not  roll. 

The  Mexican  saddle  held  me  securely  at  whatever 
angle  I  was  poised,  and  once  the  bottom  was  reached 
I  found  that  I  could  face,  with  considerable 
122 


NIGHT   AND   A   VOICE 

equanimity,  the  corresponding  ascent.  Only,  as  I 
saw  how  steep  the  climb  bade  fair  to  be,  I  did  not 
see  how  I  was  ever  to  come  down  again.  Going  up 
was  possible,  but  the  descent — 

However,  as  what  goes  up  must  in  the  course  of 
nature  come  down,  I  put  this  question  aside  and 
gave  my  horse  his  head,  after  encouraging  him  with 
a  few  blades  of  grass,  which  he  seemed  to  find  edi 
ble  enough,  though  they  had  the  look  and  some 
thing  of  the  feel  of  spun  glass. 

How  we  got  there  you  must  ask  this  good  animal, 
who  took  all  the  responsibility  and  did  all  the  work. 
I  merely  clung  and  balanced,  and  at  times,  when  he 
rounded  the  end  of  a  zigzag,  for  instance,  I  even 
shut  my  eyes,  though  the  prospect  was  magnifi 
cent.  At  last  even  his  patience  seemed  to  give  out, 
and  he  stopped  and  trembled.  But  before  I  could 
open  my  eyes  on  the  abyss  beneath  he  made  another 
effort.  I  felt  the  brush  of  tree  branches  across  my 
face,  and,  looking  up,  saw  before  me  the  ledge  or 
platform  dotted  with  tents,  at  which  I  had  looked 
with  such  longing  from  the  opposite  hillsides. 
123 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

Simultaneously  I  heard  voices,  and  saw  ap 
proaching  a  bronzed  and  bearded  man  with  strong 
ly-marked  Scotch  features  and  a  determined  air. 

"The  doctor!"  I  involuntarily  exclaimed,  with  a 
glance  at  the  small  and  curious  tent  before  which 
he  stood  guard. 

"Yes,  the  doctor,"  he  answered  in  unexpectedly 
good  English.  "And  who  are  you?  Have  you 
brought  the  mail  and  those  medicines  I  sent  for  ?" 

"No,"  I  replied  with  as  propitiatory  a  smile  as  I 
could  muster  up  in  face  of  his  brusk  forbidding  ex 
pression.  "I  came  on  my  own  errand.  I  am  a  rep 
resentative  of  the  New  York ,  and  I  hope  you 

will  not  deny  me  a  word  with  Mr.  Fairbrother." 

With  a  gesture  I  hardly  knew  how  to  interpret 
he  took  my  horse  by  the  rein  and  led  us  on  a  few 
steps  toward  another  large  tent,  where  he  motioned 
me  to  descend.  Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoul 
der  and,  forcing  me  to  meet  his  eye,  said : 

"You  have  made  this  journey — I  believe  you  said 
from  New  York — to  see  Mr.  Fairbrother.  Why?" 

"Because  Mr.  Fairbrother  is  at  present  the  most 
124 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

sought-for  man  in  America,"  I  returned  boldly. 
"His  wife — you  know  about  his  wife — " 

"No.  How  should  I  know  about  his  wife  ?  I  know 
what  his  temperature  is  and  what  his  respiration  is 
— but  his  wife?  What  about  his  wife?  He  don't 
know  anything  about  her  now  himself;  he  is  not 
allowed  to  read  letters." 

"But  you  read  the  papers.  You  must  have 
known,  before  you  left  Santa  Fe,  of  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother's  foul  and  most  mysterious  murder  in  New 
York.  It  has  been  the  theme  of  two  continents  for 
the  last  ten  days." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  which  might  mean 
anything,  and  confined  his  reply  to  a  repetition  of 
my  own  words. 

"Mrs.  Fairbrother  murdered !"  he  exclaimed,  but 
in  a  suppressed  voice,  to  which  point  was  given  by 
the  cautious  look  he  cast  behind  him  at  the  tent 
which  had  drawn  my  attention.  "He  must  not  know 
it,  man.  I  could  not  answer  for  his  life  if  he  received 
the  least  shock  in  his  present  critical  condition. 
Murdered?  When?" 

125 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Ten  days  ago,  at  a  ball  in  New  York.  It  was 
after  Mr.  Fairbrother  left  the  city.  He  was  expect 
ed  to  return,  after  hearing  the  news,  but  he  seems 
to  have  kept  straight  on  to  his  destination.  He  was 
not  very  fond  of  his  wife, — that  is,  they  have  not 
been  living  together  for  the  last  year.  But  he  could 
not  help  feeling  the  shock  of  her  death  which  he 
must  have  heard  of  somewhere  along  the  route." 

"He  has  said  nothing  in  his  delirium  to  show  that 
he  knew  it.  It  is  possible,  just  possible,  that  he 
didn't  read  the  papers.  He  could  not  have  been  well 
for  days  before  he  reached  Santa  Fe." 

"When  were  you  called  in  to  attend  him?" 

"The  very  night  after  he  reached  this  place.  It 
was  thought  he  wouldn't  live  to  reach  the  camp. 
But  he  is  a  man  of  great  pluck.  He  held  up  till  his 
foot  touched  this  platform.  Then  he  succumbed." 

"If  he  was  as  sick  as  that,"  I  muttered,  "why  did 
he  leave  Santa  Fe?  He  must  have  known  what  it 
would  mean  to  be  sick  here." 

"I  don't  think  he  did.  This  is  his  first  visit  to  the 
mine.  He  evidently  knew  nothing  of  the  difficulties 
126 


NIGHT   AND   A   VOICE 

of  the  road.  But  he  would  not  stop.  He  was  de 
termined  to  reach  the  camp,  even  after  he  had  been 
given  a  sight  of  it  from  the  opposite  mountain. 
He  told  them  that  he  had  once  crossed  the  Sierras 
in  midwinter.  But  he  wasn't  a  sick  man  then." 

"Doctor,  they  don't  know  who  killed  his  wife." 

"He  didn't." 

"I  know,  but  under  such  circumstances  every  fact 
bearing  on  the  event  is  of  immense  importance. 
There  is  one  which  Mr.  Fairbrother  only  can  make 
clear.  It  can  be  said  in  a  word — " 

The  grim  doctor's  eye  flashed  angrily  and  I 
stopped. 

"Were  you  a  detective  from  the  district  attor 
ney's  office  in  New  York,  sent  on  with  special  powers 
to  examine  him,  I  should  still  say  what  I  am  going 
to  say  now.  While  Mr.  Fairbrother's  temperature 
and  pulse  remain  where  they  now  are,  no  one  shall 
see  him  and  no  one  shall  talk  to  him  save  myself 
and  his  nurse." 

I  turned  with  a  sick  look  of  disappointment  to 
ward  the  road  up  which  I  had  so  lately  come. 
127 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Have  I  panted,  sweltered,  trembled,  for  three 
mortal  hours  on  the  worst  trail  a  man  ever  traversed 
to  go  back  with  nothing  for  my  journey?  That 
seems  to  me  hard  lines.  Where  is  the  manager  of 
this  mine?" 

The  doctor  pointed  toward  a  man  bending  over 
the  edge  of  the  great  hole  from  which,  at  that  mo 
ment,  a  line  of  Mexicans  was  issuing,  each  with 
a  sack  on  his  back  which  he  flung  down  before  what 
looked  like  a  furnace  built  of  clay. 

"That's  he.  Mr.  Haines,  of  Philadelphia.  What 
do  you  want  of  him?" 

"Permission  to  stay  the  night.  Mr.  Fair- 
brother  may  be  better  to-morrow." 

"I  won't  allow  it  and  I  am  master  here,  so  far 
as  my  patient  is  concerned.  You  couldn't  stay  here 
without  talking,  and  talking  makes  excitement,  and 
excitement  is  just  what  he  can  not  stand.  A  week 
from  now  I  will  see  about  it — that  is,  if  my  pa 
tient  continues  to  improve.  I  am  not  sure  that  he 
will." 

"Let  me  spend  that  week  here.  I'll  not  talk  any 
128 


NIGHT   AND    A   VOICE 

more  than  the  dead.     Maybe  the  manager  will  let 
me  carry  sacks." 

"Look  here,"  said  the  doctor,  edging  me  farther 
and  farther  away  from  the  tent  he  hardly  let  out  of 
his  sight  for  a  moment.  "You're  a  canny  lad,  and 
shall  have  your  bite  and  something  to  drink  before 
you  take  your  way  back.  But  back  you  go  before 
sunset  and  with  this  message:  No  man  from  any 
paper  north  or  south  will  be  received  here  till  I  hang 
out  a  blue  flag.  I  say  blue,  for  that  is  the  color  of 
my  bandana.  When  my  patient  is  in  a  condition 
to  discuss  murder  I'll  hoist  it  from  his  tent-top.  It 
can  be  seen  from  the  divide,  and  if  you  want  to 
camp  there  on  the  lookout,  well  and  good.  As  for 
the  police,  that's  another  matter.  I  will  see  them 
if  they  come,  but  they  need  not  expect  to  talk  to  my 
patient.  You  may  say  so  down  there.  It  will  save 
scrambling  up  this  trail  to  no  purpose." 

"You  may  count  on  me,"  said  I;  "trust  a  New 
York  correspondent  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the 
right  time  to  head  off  the  boys.  But  I  doubt  if 
they  will  believe  me." 

129 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"In  that  case  I  shall  have  a  barricade  thrown  up 
fifty  feet  down  the  mountain-side,"  said  he. 

"But  the  mail  and  your  supplies?" 

"Oh,  the  burros  can  make  their  way  up.  We 
shan't  suffer." 

"You  are  certainly  master,"  I  remarked. 

All  this  time  I  had  been  using  my  eyes.  There 
was  not  much  to  see,  but  what  there  was  was  roman 
tically  interesting.  Aside  from  the  furnace  and 
what  was  going  on  there,  there  was  little  else  but 
a  sleeping-tent,  a  cooking-tent,  and  the  small  one 
I  had  come  on  first,  which,  without  the  least  doubt, 
contained  the  sick  man.  This  last  tent  was  of  a 
peculiar  construction  and  showed  the  primitive 
nature  of  everything  at  this  height.  It  consisted 
simply  of  a  cloth  thrown  over  a  thing  like  a  trapeze. 
This  cloth  did  not  even  come  to  the  ground  on  either 
side,  but  stopped  short  a  foot  or  so  from  the  flat 
mound  of  adobe  which  serves  as  a  base  or  floor  for 
hut  or  tent  in  New  Mexico.  The  rear  of  the  simple 
tent  abutted  on  the  mountain-side ;  the  opening  was 
toward  the  valley.  I  felt  an  intense  desire  to  look 
130 


NIGHT   AND    A   VOICE 

into  this  opening, — so  intense  that  I  thought  I 
would  venture  on  an  attempt  to  gratify  it.  Scru 
tinizing  the  resolute  face  of  the  man  before  me  and 
flattering  myself  that  I  detected  signs  of  humor 
underlying  his  professional  bruskness,  I  asked, 
somewhat  mournfully,  if  he  would  let  me  go  away 
without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  man  I  had  come 
so  far  to  see.  "A  glimpse  would  satisfy  me  now," 
I  assured  him,  as  the  hint  of  a  twinkle  flashed  in  his 
eye.  "Surely  there  will  be  no  harm  in  that.  I'll 
take  it  instead  of  supper." 

He  smiled,  but  not  encouragingly,  and  I  was  feel 
ing  very  despondent,  indeed,  when  the  canvas  on 
which  our  eyes  were  fixed  suddenly  shook  and  the 
calm  figure  of  a  woman  stepped  out  before  us,  clad 
in  the  simplest  garb,  but  showing  in  every  line  of 
face  and  form  a  character  of  mingled  kindness  and 
shrewdness.  She  was  evidently  on  the  lookout  for 
the  doctor,  for  she  made  a  sign  as  she  saw  him  and 
returned  instantly  into  the  tent. 

"Mr.  Fairbrother  has  just  fallen  asleep,"  he  ex 
plained.  "It  isn't  discipline  and  I  shall  have  to 
131 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

apologize  to  Miss  Serra,  but  if  you  will  promise 
not  to  speak  nor  make  the  least  disturbance  I  wil? 
let  you  take  the  one  peep  you  prefer  to  supper." 

"I  promise,"  said  I. 

Leading  the  way  to  the  opening,  he  whispered  a 
word  to  the  nurse,  then  motioned  me  to  look  in. 
The  sight  was  a  simple  one,  but  to  me  very  im 
pressive.  The  owner  of  palaces,  a  man  to  whom 
millions  were  as  thousands  to  such  poor  devils  as 
myself,  lay  on  an  improvised  bed  of  evergreens, 
wrapped  in  a  horse  blanket  and  with  nothing  better 
than  another  of  these  rolled  up  under  his  head.  At 
his  side  sat  his  nurse  on  what  looked  like  the  uneven 
stump  of  a  tree.  Close  to  her  hand  was  a  tolerably 
flat  stone,  on  which  I  saw  arranged  a  number  of 
bottles  and  such  other  comforts  as  were  absolutely 
necessary  to  a  proper  care  of  the  sufferer. 

That  was  all.  In  these  few  words  I  have  told 
the  whole  story.  To  be  sure,  this  simple  tent, 
perched  seven  thousand  feet  and  more  above  sea- 
level,  had  one  advantage  which  even  his  great  house 
in  New  York  could  not  offer.  This  was  the  out 
132 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

look.  Lying  as  he  did  facing  the  valley,  he  had 
only  to  open  his  eyes  to  catch  a  full  view  of  the 
panorama  of  sky  and  mountain  stretched  out  before 
him.  It  was  glorious;  whether  seen  at  morning, 
noon  or  night,  glorious.  But  I  doubt  if  he  would 
not  gladly  have  exchanged  it  for  a  sight  of  his 
home  walls. 

As  I  started  to  go,  a  stir  took  place  in  the 
blanket  wrapped  about  his  chin,  and  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  iron-gray  head  and  hollow  cheeks  of 
the  great  financier.  He  was  a  very  sick  man.  Even 
I  could  see  that.  Had  I  obtained  the  permission 
I  sought  and  been  allowed  to  ask  him  one  of  the 
many  questions  burning  on  my  tongue,  I  should 
have  received  only  delirium  for  reply.  There  was  no 
reaching  that  clouded  intelligence  now,  and  I  felt 
grateful  to  the  doctor  for  convincing  me  of  it. 

I  told  him  so  and  thanked  him  quite  warmly 
when  we  were  well  away  from  the  tent,  and  his  an 
swer  was  almost  kindly,  though  he  made  no  effort 
to  hide  his  impatience  and  anxiety  to  see  me  go. 
The  looks  he  cast  at  the  sun  were  significant,  and, 
133 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

having  no  wish  to  antagonize  him  and  every  wish 
to  visit  the  spot  again,  I  moved  toward  my  horse 
with  the  intention  of  untying  him. 

To  my  surprise  the  doctor  held  me  back. 

"You  can't  go  to-night,"  said  he,  "your  horse 
has  hurt  himself." 

It  was  true.  There  was  something  the  matter 
with  the  animal's  left  forefoot.  As  the  doctor 
lifted  it,  the  manager  came  up.  He  agreed  with 
the  doctor.  I  could  not  make  the  descent  to  Santa 
Fe  on  that  horse  that  night.  Did  I  feel  elated? 
Rather.  I  had  no  wish  to  descend.  Yet  I  was  far 
from  foreseeing  what  the  night  was  to  bring  me. 

I  was  turned  over  to  the  manager,  but  not  with 
out  a  final  injunction  from  the  doctor.  "Not  a  word 
to  any  one  about  your  errand!  Not  a  word  about 
the  New  York  tragedy,  as  you  value  Mr.  Fair- 
brother's  life." 

"Not  a  word,"  said  I. 

Then  he  left  me. 

To  see  the  sun  go  down  and  the  moon  come  up 
from  a  ledge  hung,  as  it  were,  in  mid  air!  The  ex- 
134 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

perience  was  novel — but  I  refrain.     I  have  more 
important  matters  to  relate. 

I  was  given  a  bunk  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  long 
sleeping-tent,  and  turned  in  with  the  rest.  I  ex 
pected  to  sleep,  but  on  finding  that  I  could  catch  a 
sight  of  the  sick  tent  from  under  the  canvas,  I 
experienced  such  fascination  in  watching  this  for 
bidden  spot  that  midnight  came  before  I  had  closed 
my  eyes.  Then  all  desire  to  sleep  left  me,  for  the 
patient  began  to  moan  and  presently  to  talk,  and, 
the  stillness  of  the  solitary  height  being  something 
abnormal,  I  could  sometimes  catch  the  very  words. 
Devoid  as  they  were  of  all  rational  meaning,  they 
excited  my  curiosity  to  the  burning  point ;  for  who 
could  tell  if  he  might  not  say  something  bearing  on 
the  mystery  ? 

But  that  fevered  mind  had  recurred  to  early 
scenes  and  the  babble  which  came  to  my  ears  was  all 
of  mining  camps  in  the  Rockies  and  the  dicker  of 
horses.  Perhaps  the  uneasy  movement  of  my  horse 
pulling  at  the  end  of  his  tether  had  disturbed  him. 
Perhaps — 

185 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

But  at  the  inner  utterance  of  the  second  "per 
haps"  I  found  myself  up  on  my  elbow  listening 
with  all  my  ears,  and  staring  with  wide-stretched 
eyes  at  the  thicket  of  stunted  trees  where  the  road 
debouched  on  the  platform.  Something  was  astir 
there  besides  my  horse.  I  could  catch  sounds  of  an 
unmistakable  nature.  A  rider  was  coming  up  the 
trail. 

Slipping  back  into  my  place,  I  turned  toward 
the  doctor,  who  lay  some  two  or  three  bunks  nearer 
the  opening.  He  had  started  up,  too,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  was  out  of  the  tent.  I  do  not  think  he  had 
observed  my  action,  for  it  was  very  dark  where  I 
lay  and  his  back  had  been  turned  toward  me.  As 
for  the  others,  they  slept  like  the  dead,  only  they 
made  more  noise. 

Interested — everything  is  interesting  at  such  a 
height — I  brought  my  eye  to  bear  on  the  ledge,  and 
soon  saw  by  the  limpid  light  of  a  full  moon  the 
stiff,  short  branches  of  the  trees,  on  which  my  gaze 
was  fixed,  give  way  to  an  advancing  horse  and  rider. 

"Halloo !"  saluted  the  doctor  in  a  whisper,  which 
136 


NIGHT    AND    A    VOICE 

was  in  itself  a  warning.  "Easy  there!  We  have 
sickness  in  this  camp  and  it's  a  late  hour  for  visit 
ors." 

"I  know." 

The  answer  was  subdued,  but  earnest. 

"I'm  the  magistrate  of  this  district.  I've  a  ques 
tion  to  ask  this  sick  man,  on  behalf  of  the  New 
York  Chief  of  Police,  who  is  a  personal  friend  of 
mine.  It  is  connected  with — " 

"Hush!" 

The  doctor  had  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  turned 
his  face  away  from  the  sick  tent.  Then  the  two 
heads  came  together  and  an  argument  began. 

I  could  not  hear  a  word  of  it,  but  their  motions 
were  eloquent.  My  sympathy  was  with  the  magis 
trate,  of  course,  and  I  watched  eagerly  while  he 
passed  a  letter  over  to  the  doctor,  who  vainly  strove 
to  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  Finding  this  im 
possible,  he  was  about  to  return  it,  when  the  other 
struck  a  match  and  lit  a  lantern  hanging  from  the 
horn  of  his  saddle.  The  two  heads  came  together 
again,  but  as  quickly  separated  with  every  appear- 
137 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

ance  of  irreconcilement,  and  I  was  settling  back  with 
sensations  of  great  disappointment,  when  a  sound 
fell  on  the  night  so  unexpected  to  all  concerned  that 
with  a  common  impulse  each  eye  sought  the  sick 
tent 

"Water!  will  some  one  give  me  water?"  a  voice 
had  cried,  quietly  and  with  none  of  the  delirium 
which  had  hitherto  rendered  it  unnatural. 

The  doctor  started  for  the  tent.  There  was  the 
quickness  of  surprise  in  his  movement  and  the  ges 
ture  he  made  to  the  magistrate,  as  he  passed  in,  re 
awakened  an  expectation  in  my  breast  which  made 
me  doubly  watchful. 

Providence  was  intervening  in  our  favor,  and  I 
was  not  surprised  to  see  him  presently  reissue  with 
the  nurse,  whom  he  drew  into  the  shadow  of  the 
trees,  where  they  had  a  short  conference.  If  she  re 
turned  alone  into  the  tent  after  this  conference  I 
should  know  that  the  matter  was  at  an  end  and  that 
the  doctor  had  decided  to  maintain  his  authority 
against  that  of  the  magistrate.  But  she  remained 
outside  and  the  magistrate  was  invited  to  join  their 
188 


NIGHT   AND    A   VOICE 

council;  when  they  again  left  the  shadow  of  tht 
trees  it  was  to  approach  the  tent. 

The  magistrate,  who  was  in  the  rear,  could  not 
have  more  than  passed  the  opening,  but  I  thought 
him  far  enough  inside  not  to  detect  any  movement 
on  my  part,  so  I  took  advantage  of  the  situation  to 
worm  myself  out  of  my  corner  and  across  the  ledge 
to  where  the  tent  made  a  shadow  in  the  moonlight. 

Crouching  close,  and  laying  my  ear  against  the 
canvas,  I  listened. 

The  nurse  was  speaking  in  a  gently  persuasive 
tone.  I  imagined  her  kneeling  by  the  head  of  the 
patient  and  breathing  words  into  his  ear.  These 
were  what  I  heard: 

"You  love  diamonds.  I  have  often  noticed  that ; 
you  look  so  long  at  the  ring  on  your  hand.  That  is 
why  I  have  let  it  stay  there,  though  at  times  I  have 
feared  it  would  drop  off  and  roll  away  over  the 
adobe  down  the  mountain-side.  Was  I  right?" 

"Yes,  yes."  The  words  came  with  difficulty,  but 
they  were  clear  enough.  "It's  of  small  value.  I  like 
it  because — " 

139 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

He  appeared  to  be  too  weak  to  finish. 

A  pause,  during  which  she  seemed  to  edge  nearer 
to  him. 

"We  all  have  some  pet  keepsake,"  said  she.  "But 
I  should  never  have  supposed  this  stone  of  yours  an 
inexpensive  one.  But  I  forget  that  you  are  the 
owner  of  a  very  large  and  remarkable  diamond,  a 
diamond  that  is  spoken  of  sometimes  in  the  papers. 
Of  course,  if  you  have  a  gem  like  that,  this  one 
must  appear  very  small  and  valueless  to  you." 

"Yes,  this  is  nothing,  nothing."  And  he  ap 
peared  to  turn  away  his  head. 

"Mr.  Fairbrother !  Pardon  me,  but  I  want  to  tell 
you  something  about  that  big  diamond  of  yours. 
You  have  been  ill  and  have  not  been  able  to  read 
your  letters,  so  do  not  know  that  your  wife  has  had 
some  trouble  with  that  diamond.  People  have  said 
that  it  is  not  a  real  stone,  but  a  well-executed  imi 
tation.  May  I  write  to  her  that  this  is  a  mistake, 
that  it  is  all  you  have  ever  claimed  for  it — that  is, 
an  unusually  large  diamond  of  the  first  water?" 

I  listened  in  amazement.  Surely,  this  was  an  in- 
140 


NIGHT    AND   A   VOICE 

sidious  way  to  get  at  the  truth, — a  woman's  way, 
but  who  would  say  it  was  not  a  wise  one,  the  wisest, 
perhaps,  which  could  be  taken  under  the  circum 
stances  ?  What  would  his  reply  be  ?  Would  it  show 
that  he  was  as  ignorant  of  his  wife's  death  as  was 
generally  believed,  both  by  those  about  him  here 
and  those  who  knew  him  well  in  New  York?  Or 
would  the  question  convey  nothing  further  to  him 
than  the  doubt — in  itself  an  insult — of  the  genuine 
ness  of  that  great  stone  which  had  been  his  pride? 

A  murmur — that  was  all  it  could  be  called — 
broke  from  his  fever-dried  lips  and  died  away  in  an 
inarticulate  gasp.  Then,  suddenly,  sharply,  a  cry 
broke  from  him,  an  intelligible  cry,  and  we  heard 
Jiim  say : 

"No  imitation!  no  imitation!  It  was  a  sun!  a 
glory !  No  other  like  it !  It  lit  the  air !  it  blazed,  it 
burned !  I  see  it  now !  I  see — " 

There    the    passion    succumbed,    the    strength 

failed;  another  murmur,  another,   and  the  great 

void  of  night  which  stretched  over — I  might  almost 

say  under  us — was  no  more  quiet  or  seemingly  im- 

141 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

penetrable  than  the  silence  of  that  moon-enveloped 
tent. 

Would  he  speak  again?  I  did  not  think  so. 
Would  she  even  try  to  make  him?  I  did  not  think 
this,  either.  But  I  did  not  know  the  woman. 

Softly  her  voice  rose  again.  There  was  a  domi 
nating  insistence  in  her  tones,  gentle  as  they  were ; 
the  insistence  of  a  healthy  mind  which  seeks  to  con 
trol  a  weakened  one. 

"You  do  not  know  of  any  imitation,  then?  It 
was  the  real  stone  you  gave  her.  You  are  sure  of 
it;  you  would  be  ready  to  swear  to  it  if — say  just 
yes  or  no,"  she  finished  in  gentle  urgency. 

Evidently  he  was  sinking  again  into  unconscious 
ness,  and  she  was  just  holding  him  back  long 
enough  for  the  necessary  word. 

It  came  slowly  and  with  a  dragging  intonation, 
but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  ring  of  truth  with 
which  he  spoke. 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

When  I  heard  the  doctor's  voice  and  felt  a 
movement  in  the  canvas  against  which  I  leaned, 
142 


NIGHT    AND    A   VOICE 

I  took  the  warning  and  stole  back  hurriedlj  to  »j 
quarters. 

I  was  scarcely  settled,  when  the  same  group  of 
three  I  had  before  watched  silhouetted  itself  again 
against  the  moonlight.  There  was  some  talk,  a 
mingling  and  separating  of  shadows ;  then  the  nurse 
glided  back  to  her  duties  and  the  two  men  went 
toward  the  clump  of  trees  where  the  horse  had  been 
tethered. 

Ten  minutes  and  the  doctor  was  back  in  his  bunk. 
Was  it  imagination,  or  did  I  feel  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder  before  he  finally  lay  down  and  composed 
himself  to  sleep  ?  I  can  not  say ;  I  only  know  that 
I  gave  no  sign,  and  that  soon  all  stir  ceased  in  his 
direction  and  I  was  left  to  enjoy  my  triumph  and 
to  listen  with  anxious  interest  to  the  strange  and 
unintelligible  sounds  which  accompanied  the  de 
scent  of  the  horseman  down  the  face  of  the  cliff, 
and  finally  to  watch  with  a  fascination,  which  drew 
me  to  my  knees,  the  passage  of  that  sparkling  star 
of  light  hanging  from  his  saddle.  It  crept  to  and 
fro  across  the  side  of  the  opposite  mountain  as  he 
143 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

threaded  its  endless  zigzags  and  finally  disappeared 
over  the  brow  into  the  invisible  canyons  beyond. 

With  the  disappearance  of  this  beacon  came  lassi 
tude  and  sleep,  through  whose  hazy  atmosphere 
floated  wild  sentences  from  the  sick  tent,  which 
showed  that  the  patient  was  back  again  in  Nevada, 
quarreling  over  the  price  of  a  horse  which  was  to 
carry  him  beyond  the  reach  of  some  threatening 
avalanche. 

When  next  morning  I  came  to  depart,  the  doctor 
took  me  by  both  hands  and  looked  me  straight  in  the 
eyes. 

"You  heard,"  he  said. 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  can  tell  a  satisfied  man  when  I  see  him,"  he 
growled,  throwing  down  my  hands  with  that  same 
humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes  which  had  encouraged 
me  from  the  first. 

I  made  no  answer,  but  I  shall  remember  the  les 
son. 

One  detail  more.  When  I  started  on  my  own  de 
scent  I  found  why  the  leggings,  with  which  I  had 
144 


NIGHT    AND    A   VOICE 

been  provided,  were  so  indispensable.  I  was  not 
allowed  to  ride;  indeed,  riding  down  those  steep 
declivities  was  impossible.  No  horse  could  preserve 
his  balance  with  a  rider  on  his  back.  I  slid,  so  did 
my  horse,  and  only  in  the  valley  beneath  did  we 
come  together  again. 


145 


AEEEST 

THe  success  of  this  interview  provoked  other  at 
tempts  on  the  part  of  the  reporters  who  now  flocked 
into  the  Southwest.  Ere  long  particulars  began  to 
pour  in  of  Mr.  Fairbrother's  painful  journey 
south,  after  his  illness  set  in.  The  clerk  of  the  hotel 
in  El  Moro,  where  the  great  mine-owner's  name  was 
found  registered  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  told  a 
story  which  made  very  good  reading  for  those  who 
were  more  interested  in  the  sufferings  and  experi 
ences  of  the  millionaire  husband  of  the  murdered 
lady  than  in  those  of  the  unhappy  but  compara 
tively  insignificant  man  upon  whom  public  opinion 
had  cast  the  odium  of  her  death. 

It  seems  that  when  the  first  news  came  of  the 

great  crime  which  had  taken  place  in  New  York, 

Mr.  Fairbrother  was  absent  from  the  hotel  on  a 

prospecting  tour  through  the  adjacent  mountains. 

146 


ARREST 

Couriers  had  been  sent  after  him,  and  it  was  one  of 
these  who  finally  brought  him  into  town.  He  had 
been  found  wandering  alone  on  horseback  among 
the  defiles  of  an  untraveled  region,  sick  and  almost 
incoherent  from  fever.  Indeed,  his  condition  was 
such  that  neither  the  courier  nor  such  others  as 
saw  him  had  the  heart  to  tell  him  the  dreadful  news 
from  New  York,  or  even  to  show  him  the  papers. 
To  their  great  relief,  he  betrayed  no  curiosity  in 
them.  All  he  wanted  was  a  berth  in  the  first  train 
going  south,  and  this  was  an  easy  way  for  them 
out  of  a  great  responsibility.  They  listened  to  his 
wishes  and  saw  him  safely  aboard,  with  such  alac 
rity  and  with  so  many  precautions  against  his  being 
disturbed  that  they  have  never  doubted  that  he  left 
El  Moro  in  total  ignorance,  not  only  of  the  circum 
stances  of  his  great  bereavement,  but  of  the  bereave 
ment  itself. 

This  ignorance,  which  he  appeared  to  have  car 
ried  with  him  to  the  Placide,  was  regarded  by  those 
who  knew  him  best  as  proving  the  truth  of  the 
affirmation  elicited  from  him  in  the  pauses  of  his 
147 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

delirium  of  the  genuineness  of  the  stone  which  had 
passed  from  his  hands  to  those  of  his  wife  at  the 
time  of  their  separation;  and,  further  despatches 
coming  in,  some  private  and  some  official,  but  all 
insisting  upon  the  fact  that  it  would  be  weeks  be 
fore  he  would  be  in  a  condition  to  submit  to  any 
sort  of  examination  on  a  subject  so  painful,  the 
authorities  in  New  York  decided  to  wait  no  longer 
for  his  testimony,  but  to  proceed  at  once  with  the 
inquest. 

Great  as  is  the  temptation  to  give  a  detailed  ac 
count  of  proceedings  which  were  of  such  moment  to 
myself,  and  to  every  word  of  which  I  listened  with 
the  eagerness  of  a  novice  and  the  anguish  of  a 
woman  who  sees  her  lover's  reputation  at  the  mercy 
of  a  verdict  which  may  stigmatize  him  as  a  possible 
criminal,  I  see  no  reason  for  encumbering  my  nar 
rative  with  what,  for  the  most  part,  would  be  a 
mere  repetition  of  facts  already  known  to  you. 

Mr.  Durand's  intimate  and  suggestive  connec 
tion  with  this  crime,  the  explanations  he  had  to 
give  of  this  connection,  frequently  bizarre  and,  I 
148 


ARREST 

must  acknowledge,  not  always  convincing, — noth 
ing  could  alter  these  nor  change  the  fact  of  the 
undoubted  cowardice  he  displayed  in  hiding  Mrs. 
Fair-brother's  gloves  in  my  unfortunate  little  bag. 

As  for  the  mystery  of  the  warning,  it  remained 
as  much  of  a  mystery  as  ever.  Nor  did  any  better 
success  follow  an  attempt  to  fix  the  ownership  of 
the  stiletto,  though  a  half -day  was  exhausted  in  an 
endeavor  to  show  that  the  latter  might  have  come 
into  Mr.  Durand's  possession  in  some  of  the  many 
visits  he  was  shown  to  have  made  of  late  to  various 
curio-shops  in  and  out  of  New  York  City.* 

I  had  expected  all  this,  just  as  I  had  expected 
Mr.  Grey  to  be  absent  from  the  proceedings  and  his 
testimony  ignored.  But  this  expectation  did  not 
make  the  ordeal  any  easier,  and  when  I  noticed  the 
effect  of  witness  after  witness  leaving  the  stand 
without  having  improved  Mr.  Durand's  position  by 

•Mr.  Durand's  visits  to  the  curio-shops,  as  explained  by 
him,  were  made  with  a  view  of  finding  a  casket  in  which 
to  place  his  diamond.  This  explanation  was  looked  upon 
with  as  much  doubt  as  the  others  he  had  offered  where  the 
situation  seemed  to  be  of  a  compromising  character. 

149 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

a  jot  or  offering  any  new  clue  capable  of  turning 
suspicion  into  other  directions,  I  felt  my  spirit 
harden  and  my  purpose  strengthen  till  I  hardly 
knew  myself.  I  must  have  frightened  my  uncle,  for 
his  hand  was  always  on  my  arm  and  his  chiding 
voice  in  my  ear,  bidding  me  beware,  not  only  for 
my  own  sake  and  his,  but  for  that  of  Mr.  Durand, 
whose  eye  was  seldom  away  from  my  face. 

The  verdict,  however,  was  not  the  one  I  had  so 
deeply  dreaded.  While  it  did  not  exonerate  Mr. 
Durand,  it  did  not  openly  accuse  him,  and  I  was 
on  the  point  of  giving  him  a  smile  of  congratula 
tion  and  renewed  hope  when  I  saw  my  little  de 
tective — the  one  who  had  spied  the  gloves  in  my 
bag  at  the  ball — advance  and  place  his  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

The  police  had  gone  a  step  further  than  the  coro 
ner's  jury,  and  Mr.  Durand  was  arrested,  before 
my  eyes,  on  a  charge  of  murder. 


150 


IX 

THE    MOUSE    NIBBLES   AT    THE    NET 

The  next  day  saw  me  at  police  headquarters  beg 
ging  an  interview  from  the  inspector,  with  the  in 
tention  of  confiding  to  him  a  theory  which  must 
either  cost  me  his  sympathy  or  open  the  way  to  a 
new  inquiry,  which  I  felt  sure  would  lead  to  Mr. 
Durand's  complete  exoneration. 

I  chose  this  gentleman  for  my  confidant,  from 
among  all  those  with  whom  I  had  been  brought  in 
contact  by  my  position  as  witness  in  a  case  of  this 
magnitude,  first,  because  he  had  been  present  at  the 
most  tragic  moment  of  my  life,  and  secondly,  be 
cause  I  was  conscious  of  a  sympathetic  bond  be 
tween  us  which  would  insure  me  a  kind  hearing. 
However  ridiculous  my  idea  might  appear  to  him, 
I  was  assured  that  he  would  treat  me  with  consid 
eration  and  not  visit  whatever  folly  I  might  be 
151 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

guilty  of  on  the  head  of  him  for  whom  I  risked  my 
reputation  for  good  sense. 

Nor  was  I  disappointed  in  this.  Inspector  Dal- 
zell's  air  was  fatherly  and  his  tone  altogether  gentle 
as,  in  reply  to  my  excuses  for  troubling  him  with 
my  opinions,  he  told  me  that  in  a  case  of  such  im 
portance  he  was  glad  to  receive  the  impressions 
even  of  such  a  prejudiced  little  partizan  as  myself. 
The  word  fired  me,  and  I  spoke. 

"You  consider  Mr.  Durand  guilty,  and  so  do 
many  others,  I  fear,  in  spite  of  his  long  record 
for  honesty  and  uprightness.  And  why?  Be 
cause  you  will  not  admit  the  possibility  of  another 
person's  guilt, — a  person  standing  so  high  in  pri 
vate  and  public  estimation  that  the  very  idea  seems 
preposterous  and  little  short  of  insulting  to  the 
country  of  which  he  is  an  acknowledged  ornament." 

"My  dear !" 

The  inspector  had  actually  risen.  His  expression 
and  whole  attitude  showed  shock.  But  I  did  not 
quail;  I  only  subdued  my  manner  and  spoke  with 
quieter  conviction. 

152 


THE   MOUSE  NIBBLES  AT  THE  NET 

"I  am  aware,"  said  I,  "how  words  so  daring  must 
impress  you.  But  listen,  sir;  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  say  before  you  utterly  condemn  me.  I  acknow 
ledge  that  it  is  the  frightful  position  into  which  I 
threw  Mr.  Durand  by  my  officious  attempt  to  right 
him  which  has  driven  me  to  make  this  second  effort 
to  fix  the  crime  on  the  only  other  man  who  had 
possible  access  to  Mrs.  Fairbrother  at  the  fatal  mo 
ment.  How  could  I  live  in  inaction?  How  could 
you  expect  me  to  weigh  for  a  moment  this  for 
eigner's  reputation  against  that  of  my  own  lover? 
If  I  have  reasons — " 

"Reasons !" 

" — reasons  which  would  appeal  to  all ;  if  instead 
of  this  person's  having  an  international  reputation 
at  his  back  he  had  been  a  simple  gentleman  like  Mr. 
Durand, — would  you  not  consider  me  entitled  to 
speak?" 

"Certainly,  but—" 

"You  have  no  confidence  in  my  reasons,  In 
spector;  they  may  not  weigh  against  that  splash 
of  blood  on  Mr.  Durand's  shirt-front,  but  such  as 
153 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

they  are  I  must  give  them.  But  first,  it  will  be  neces 
sary  for  you  to  accept  for  the  nonce  Mr.  Durand's 
statements  as  true.  Are  you  willing  to  do  this  ?" 

"I  will  try." 

"Then,  a  harder  thing  yet, — to  put  some  confi 
dence  in  my  judgment.  I  saw  the  man  and  did  not 
like  him  long  before  any  intimation  of  the  evening's 
tragedy  had  turned  suspicion  on  any  one.  I  watched 
him  as  I  watched  others.  I  saw  that  he  had  not  come 
to  the  ball  to  please  Mr.  Ramsdell  or  for  any  pleas 
ure  he  himself  hoped  to  reap  from  social  inter 
course,  but  for  some  purpose  much  more  important, 
and  that  this  purpose  was  connected  with  Mrs. 
Fairbrother's  diamond.  Indifferent,  almost  morose 
before  she  came  upon  the  scene,  he  brightened  to  a 
surprising  extent  the  moment  he  found  himself  in 
her  presence.  Not  because  she  was  a  beautiful 
woman,  for  he  scarcely  honored  her  face  or  even 
her  superb  figure  with  a  look.  All  his  glances  were 
centered  on  her  large  fan,  which,  in  swaying  to  and 
fro,  alternately  hid  and  revealed  the  splendor  on 
her  breast ;  and  when  by  chance  it  hung  suspended 
154 


THE   MOUSE  NIBBLES  AT  THE  NET 

for  a  moment  in  her  forgetful  hand  and  he  caught 
a  full  glimpse  of  the  great  gem,  I  perceived  such 
a  change  in  his  face  that,  if  nothing  more  had  oc 
curred  that  night  to  give  prominence  to  this  woman 
and  her  diamond,  I  should  have  carried  home  the 
conviction  that  interests  of  no  common  import  lay 
behind  a  feeling  so  extraordinarily  displayed." 

"Fanciful,  my  dear  Miss  Van  Arsdale !  Interest 
ing,  but  fanciful." 

"I  know.  I  have  not  yet  touched  on  fact.  But 
facts  are  coming,  Inspector." 

He  stared.  Evidently  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
hear  the  law  laid  down  in  this  fashion  by  a  midget 
of  my  proportions. 

"Go  on,"  said  he ;  "happily,  I  have  no  clerk  here 
to  listen." 

"I  would  not  speak  if  you  had.  These  are  words 
for  but  one  ear  as  yet.  Not  even  my  uncle  suspects 
the  direction  of  my  thoughts." 

"Proceed,"  he  again  enjoined. 

Upon  which  I  plunged  into  my  subject. 

"Mrs.  Fairbrother  wore  the  real  diamond,  and 
155 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

no  imitation,  to  the  ball.  Of  this  I  feel  sure.  The 
bit  of  glass  or  paste  displayed  to  the  coroner's  jury 
was  bright  enough,  but  it  was  not  the  star  of  light 
I  saw  burning  on  her  breast  as  she  passed  me  on 
her  way  to  the  alcove." 

"Miss  Van  Arsdale!" 

"The  interest  which  Mr.  Durand  displayed  in  it, 
the  marked  excitement  into  which  he  was  thrown  by 
his  first  view  of  its  size  and  splendor,  confirm  in  my 
mind  the  evidence  which  he  gave  on  oath  (and  he  is 
a  well-known  diamond  expert,  you  know,  and  must 
have  been  very  well  aware  that  he  would  injure 
rather  than  help  his  cause  by  this  admission)  that 
at  that  time  he  believed  the  stone  to  be  real  and  of 
immense  value.  Wearing  such  a  gem,  then,  she  en 
tered  the  fatal  alcove,  and,  with  a  smile  on  her  face, 
prepared  to  employ  her  fascinations  on  whoever 
chanced  to  come  within  their  reach.  But  now  some 
thing  happened.  Please  let  me  tell  it  my  own  way. 
A  shout  from  the  driveway,  or  a  bit  of  snow  thrown 
against  the  window,  drew  her  attention  to  a  man 
standing  below,  holding  up  a  note  fastened  to  the 
156 


THE   MOUSE  NIBBLES  AT  THE  NET 

end  of  a  whip-handle.  I  do  not  know  whether  or 
not  you  have  found  that  man.  If  you  have — "  The 
inspector  made  no  sign.  "I  judge  that  you  have 
not,  so  I  may  go  on  with  my  suppositions.  Mrs. 
Fairbrother  took  in  this  note.  She  may  have  ex 
pected  it  and  for  this  reason  chose  the  alcove  to  sit 
in,  or  it  may  have  been  a  surprise  to  her.  Probably 
we  shall  never  know  the  whole  truth  about  it;  but 
what  we  can  know  and  do,  if  you  are  still  holding 
to  our  compact  and  viewing  this  crime  in  the  light 
of  Mr.  Durand's  explanations,  is  that  it  made  a 
change  in  her  and  made  her  anxious  to  rid  herself 
of  the  diamond.  It  has  been  decided  that  the  hur 
ried  scrawl  should  read,  'Take  warning.  He  means 
to  be  at  the  ball.  Expect  trouble  if  you  do  not  give 
him  the  diamond,'  or  something  to  that  effect.  But 
why  was  it  passed  up  to  her  unfinished?  Was  the 
haste  too  great  ?  I  hardly  think  so.  I  believe  in  an 
other  explanation,  which  points  with  startling  di 
rectness  to  the  possibility  that  the  person  referred 
to  in  this  broken  communication  was  not  Mr.  Du- 
rand,  but  one  whom  I  need  not  name ;  and  that  the 

157 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

reason  you  have  failed  to  find  the  messenger,  of 
whose  appearance  you  have  received  definite  infor 
mation,  is  that  you  have  not  looked  among  the 
servants  of  a  certain  distinguished  visitor  in  town. 
Oh,"  I  burst  forth  with  feverish  volubility,  as  I 
saw  the  inspector's  lips  open  in  what  could  not  fail 
to  be  a  sarcastic  utterance,  "I  know  what  you  feel 
tempted  to  reply.  Why  should  a  servant  deliver  a 
warning  against  his  own  master?  If  you  will  be 
patient  with  me  you  will  soon  see;  but  first  I  wish 
to  make  it  clear  that  Mrs.  Fairbr other,  having  re 
ceived  this  warning  just  before  Mr.  Durand  ap 
peared  in  the  alcove, — reckless,  scheming  woman 
that  she  was! — sought  to  rid  herself  of  the  object 
against  which  it  was  directed  in  the  way  we  have 
temporarily  accepted  as  true.  Relying  on  her  arts, 
and  possibly  misconceiving  the  nature  of  Mr.  Du- 
rand's  interest  in  her,  she  hands  over  the  diamond 
hidden  in  her  rolled-up  gloves,  which  he,  without 
suspicion,  carries  away  with  him,  thus  linking  him 
self  indissolubly  to  a  great  crime  of  which  another 
was  the  perpetrator.  That  other,  or  so  I  believe 
158 


THE  MOUSE  NIBBLES  AT  THE  NET 

from  my  very  heart  of  hearts,  was  the  man  I  saw 
leaning  against  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  alcove  a 
few  minutes  before  I  passed  into  the  supper-room." 

I  stopped  with  a  gasp,  hardly  able  to  meet  the 
stern  and  forbidding  look  with  which  the  inspector 
sought  to  restrain  what  he  evidently  considered  the 
senseless  ravings  of  a  child.  But  I  had  come  there 
to  speak,  and  I  hastily  proceeded  before  the  rebuke 
thus  expressed  could  formulate  itself  into  words. 

"I  have  some  excuse  for  a  declaration  so  mon 
strous.  Perhaps  I  am  the  only  person  who  can 
satisfy  you  in  regard  to  a  certain  fact  about  which 
you  have  expressed  some  curiosity.  Inspector,  have 
you  ever  solved  the  mystery  of  the  two  broken  cof 
fee-cups  found  amongst  the  debris  at  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother's  feet  ?  It  did  not  come  out  in  the  inquest,  I 
noticed." 

"Not  yet,"  he  cried,  "but — you  can  not  tell  me 
anything  about  them !" 

"Possibly  not.  But  I  can  tell  you  this :  When  I 
reached  the  supper-room  door  that  evening  I  looked 
back  and,  providentially  or  otherwise — only  the 
159 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

future  can  determine  that — detected  Mr.  Grey  in 
the  act  of  lifting  two  cups  from  a  tray  left  by  some 
waiter  on  a  table  standing  just  outside  the  recep 
tion-room  door.  I  did  not  see  where  he  carried  them ; 
I  only  saw  his  face  turned  toward  the  alcove;  and 
as  there  was  no  other  lady  there,  or  anywhere  near 
there,  I  have  dared  to  think—" 

Here  the  inspector  found  speech. 

"You  saw  Mr.  Grey  lift  two  cups  and  turn 
toward  the  alcove  at  a  moment  we  all  know  to  have 
been  critical?  You  should  have  told  me  this  before. 
He  may  be  a  possible  witness." 

I  scarcely  listened.  I  was  too  full  of  my  own 
argument. 

"There  were  other  people  in  the  hall,  especially 
at  my  end  of  it.  A  perfect  throng  was  coming  from 
the  billiard-room,  where  the  dancing  had  been,  and 
it  might  easily  be  that  he  could  both  enter  and 
leave  that  secluded  spot  without  attracting  atten 
tion.  He  had  shown  too  early  and  much  too  unmis 
takably  his  lack  of  interest  in  the  general  company 
for  his  every  movement  to  be  watched  as  at  his  first 
160 


THE   MOUSE  NIBBLES  AT  THE  NET 

arrival.  But  this  is  simple  conjecture;  what  I  have 
to  say  next  is  evidence.  The  stiletto — have  you 
studied  it,  sir?  I  have,  from  the  pictures.  It  is 
very  quaint;  and  among  the  devices  on  the  handle 
is  one  that  especially  attracted  my  attention.  See! 
This  is  what  I  mean."  And  I  handed  him  a  drawing 
which  I  had  made  with  some  care  in  expectation  of 
this  very  interview. 

He  surveyed  it  with  some  astonishment. 

"I  understand,"  I  pursued  in  trembling  tones, 
for  I  was  much  affected  by  my  own  daring,  "that 
no  one  has  so  far  succeeded  in  tracing  this  weapon 
to  its  owner.  Why  didn't  your  experts  study  her 
aldry  and  the  devices  of  great  houses?  They  would 
have  found  that  this  one  is  not  unknown  in  Eng 
land.  I  can  tell  you  on  whose  blazon  it  can  often  be 
seen,  and  so  could — Mr.  Grey." 


161 


I    ASTONISH    THE    INSPECTOR 

I  was  not  the  only  one  to  tremble  now.  This  man 
of  infinite  experience  and  daily  contact  with  crime 
had  turned  as  pale  as  ever  I  myself  had  done  in  face 
of  a  threatening  calamity. 

"I  shall  see  about  this,"  he  muttered,  crumpling 
the  paper  in  his  hand.  "But  this  is  a  very  terrible 
business  you  are  plunging  me  into.  I  sincerely  hope 
that  you  are  not  heedlessly  misleading  me." 

"I  am  correct  in  my  facts,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean,"  said  I.  "The  stiletto  is  an  English  heir 
loom,  and  bears  on  its  blade,  among  other  devices, 
that  of  Mr.  Grey's  family  on  the  female  side.  But 
that  is  not  all  I  want  to  say.  If  the  blow  was  struck 
to  obtain  the  diamond,  the  shock  of  not  finding  it 
on  his  victim  must  have  been  terrible.  Now  Mr. 
Grey's  heart,  if  my  whole  theory  is  not  utterly 
false,  was  set  upon  obtaining  this  stone.  Your  eye 
162 


I   ASTONISH    THE   INSPECTOR 

was  not  on  him.  as  mine  was  when  you  made  your 
appearance  in  the  hall  with  the  recovered  jewel.  He 
showed  astonishment,  eagerness,  and  a  determina 
tion  which  finally  led  him  forward,  as  you  know, 
with  the  request  to  take  the  diamond  in  his  hand. 
Why  did  he  want  to  take  it  in  his  hand  ?  And  why, 
having  taken  it,  did  he  drop  it — a  diamond  sup 
posed  to  be  worth  an  ordinary  man's  fortune?  Be 
cause  he  was  startled  by  a  cry  he  chose  to  consider 
the  traditional  one  of  his  family  proclaiming  death? 
Is  it  likely,  sir?  Is  it  conceivable  even  that  any 
such  cry  as  we  heard  could,  in  this  day  and  genera 
tion,  ring  through  such  an  assemblage,  unless  it 
came  with  ventriloquial  power  from  his  own  lips? 
You  observed  that  he  turned  his  back ;  that  his  face 
was  hidden  from  us.  Discreet  and  reticent  as  we 
have  all  been,  and  careful  in  our  criticisms  of  so 
bizarre  an  event,  there  still  must  be  many  to  ques 
tion  the  reality  of  such  superstitious  fears,  and 
some  to  ask  if  such  a  sound  could  be  without  hu 
man  agency,  and  a  very  guilty  agency,  too.  In 
spector,  I  am  but  a  child  in  your  estimation,  and 
163 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

I  feel  my  position  in  this  matter  much  more  keenly 
than  you  do,  but  I  would  not  be  true  to  the  man 
whom  I  have  unwittingly  helped  to  place  in  his 
present  unenviable  position  if  I  did  not  tell  you 
that,  in  my  judgment,  this  cry  was  a  spurious  one, 
employed  by  the  gentleman  himself  as  an  excuse  for 
dropping  the  stone." 

"And  why  should  he  wish  to  drop  the  stone  ?" 
"Because  of  the  fraud  he  meditated.  Because  it 
offered  him  an  opportunity  for  substituting  a  false 
stone  for  the  real.  Did  you  not  notice  a  change  in 
the  aspect  of  this  jewel  dating  from  this  very  mo 
ment  ?  Did  it  shine  with  as  much  brilliancy  in  your 
hand  when  you  received  it  back  as  when  you  passed 
it  over?" 

"Nonsense!  I  do  not  know;  it  is  all  too  absurd 
for  argument."  Yet  he  did  stop  to  argue,  saying 
in  the  next  breath :  "You  forget  that  the  stone  has 
a  setting.  Would  you  claim  that  this  gentleman  of 
family,  place  and  political  distinction  had  planned 
this  hideous  crime  with  sufficient  premeditation  to 
have  provided  himself  with  the  exact  counterpart 
164 


I    ASTONISH    THE    INSPECTOR 

of  a  brooch  which  it  is  highly  improbable  he  ever 
saw?  You  would  make  him  out  a  Cagliostro  or 
something  worse.  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  I  fear  your 
theory  will  topple  over  of  its  own  weight." 

He  was  very  patient  with  me ;  he  did  not  show  me 
the  door. 

"Yet  such  a  substitution  took  place,  and  took 
place  that  evening,"  I  insisted.  "The  bit  of  paste 
shown  us  at  the  inquest  was  never  the  gem  Mrs. 
Fairbrother  wore  on  entering  the  alcove.  Besides, 
where  all  is  sensation,  why  cavil  at  one  more  im 
probability?  Mr.  Grey  may  have  come  over  to 
America  for  no  other  reason.  He  is  known  as  a 
collector,  and  when  a  man  has  a  passion  for  dia 
mond-getting — " 

"He  is  known  as  a  collector?" 

"In  his  own  country." 

"I  was  not  told  that." 

"Nor  I.  But  I  found  it  out." 

"How,  my  dear  child,  how  ?" 

"By  a  cablegram  or  so." 

"You — cabled — his  name — to  England?" 
165 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"No,  Inspector ;  uncle  has  a  code,  and  I  made  use 
of  it  to  ask  a  friend  in  London  for  a  list  of  the  most 
noted  diamond  fanciers  in  the  country.  Mr.  Grey's 
name  was  third  on  the  list." 

He  gave  me  a  look  in  which  admiration  was 
strangely  blended  with  doubt  and  apprehension. 

"You  are  making  a  brave  struggle,"  said  he, 
"but  it  is  a  hopeless  one." 

"I  have  one  more  confidence  to  repose  in  you. 
The  nurse  who  has  charge  of  Miss  Grey  was  in  my 
class  in  the  hospital.  We  love  each  other,  and  to 
her  I  dared  appeal  on  one  point.  Inspector — " 
here  my  voice  unconsciously  fell  as  he  impetu 
ously  drew  nearer — "a  note  was  sent  from  that 
sick  chamber  on  the  night  of  the  ball, — a  note  sur 
reptitiously  written  by  Miss  Grey,  while  the  nurse 
was  in  an  adjoining  room.  The  messenger  was  Mr. 
Grey's  valet,  and  its  destination  the  house  in  which 
her  father  was  enjoying  his  position  as  chief  guest. 
She  says  that  it  was  meant  for  him,  but  I  have 
dared  to  think  that  the  valet  would  tell  a  different 
story.  My  friend  did  not  see  what  her  patient 
166 


I    ASTONISH    THE    INSPECTOR 

wrote,  but  she  acknowledged  that  if  her  patient 
wrote  more  than  two  words  the  result  must  have 
been  an  unintelligible  scrawl,  since  she  was  too  weak 
to  hold  a  pencil  firmly,  and  so  nearly  blind  that  she 
would  have  had  to  feel  her  way  over  the  paper." 

The  inspector  started,  and,  rising  hastily,  went 
to  his  desk,  from  which  he  presently  brought  the 
scrap  of  paper  which  had  already  figured  in  the 
inquest  as  the  mysterious  communication  taken 
from  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  hand  by  the  coroner. 
Pressing  it  out  flat,  he  took  another  look  at  it,  then 
glanced  up  in  visible  discomposure. 

"It  has  always  looked  to  us  as  if  written  in  the 
dark,  by  an  agitated  hand ;  but — " 

I  said  nothing ;  the  broken  and  unfinished  scrawl 
was  sufficiently  eloquent. 

"Did  your  friend  declare  Miss  Grey  to  have 
written  with  a  pencil  and  on  a  small  piece  of  unruled 
paper  ?" 

"Yes,  the  pencil  was  at  her  bedside;  the  paper 
was  torn  from  a  book  which  lay  there.  She  did  not 
put  the  note  when  written  in  an  envelope,  but  gave 
167 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

it  to  the  valet  just  as  it  was.  He  is  an  old  man  and 
had  come  to  her  room  for  some  final  orders." 

"The  nurse  saw  all  this  ?  Has  she  that  book  ?" 

"No,  it  went  out  next  morning,  with  the  scraps. 
It  was  some  pamphlet,  I  believe." 

The  inspector  turned  the  morsel  of  paper  over 
and  over  in  his  hand. 

"What  is  this  nurse's  name  ?" 

"Henrietta  Pierson." 

"Does  she  share  your  doubts  ?" 

"I  can  not  say." 

"You  have  seen  her  often  ?" 

"No,  only  the  one  time." 

"Is  she  discreet?" 

"Very.  On  this  subject  she  will  be  like  the  grave 
unless  forced  by  you  to  speak." 

"And  Miss  Grey?" 

"She  is  still  ill,  too  ill  to  be  disturbed  by  ques 
tions,  especially  on  so  delicate  a  topic.  But  she  is 
getting  well  fast.  Her  father's  fears  as  we  heard 
them  expressed  on  one  memorable  occasion  were  ill- 
founded,  sir." 

168 


I    ASTONISH    THE    INSPECTOR 

Slowly  the  inspector  inserted  this  scrap  of  paper 
between  the  folds  of  his  pocketbook.  He  did  not 
give  me  another  look,  though  I  stood  trembling  be 
fore  him.  Was  he  in  any  way  convinced  or  was  he 
simply  seeking  for  the  most  considerate  way  in 
which  to  dismiss  me  and  my  abominable  theory? 
I  could  not  gather  his  intentions  from  his  expres 
sion,  and  was  feeling  very  faint  and  heart-sick 
when  he  suddenly  turned  upon  me  with  the  remark : 

"A  girl  as  ill  as  you  say  Miss  Grey  was  must 
have  had  some  very  pressing  matter  on  her  mind  to 
attempt  to  write  and  send  a  message  under  such 
difficulties.  According  to  your  idea,  she  had  some 
notion  of  her  father's  designs  and  wished  to  warn 
Mrs.  Fairbrother  against  them.  But  don't  you  see 
that  such  conduct  as  this  would  be  preposterous, 
nay,  unparalleled  in  persons  of  their  distinction? 
You  must  find  some  other  explanation  for  Miss 
Grey's  seemingly  mysterious  action,  and  I  an  agent 
of  crime  other  than  one  of  England's  most  rep 
utable  statesmen." 

"So  that  Mr.  Durand  is  shown  the  same  consider- 
169 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

ation,  I  am  content,"  said  I.  "It  is  the  truth  and 
the  truth  only  I  desire.  I  am  willing  to  trust  my 
cause  with  you." 

He  looked  none  too  grateful  for  this  confidence. 
Indeed,  now  that  I  look  back  on  this  scene,  I  do 
not  wonder  that  he  shrank  from  the  responsibility 
thus  foisted  upon  him. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  he  asked. 

"Prove  something.  Prove  that  I  am  altogether 
wrong  or  altogether  right.  Or  if  proof  is  not  pos 
sible,  pray  allow  me  the  privilege  of  doing  what  I 
can  myself  to  clear  up  the  matter." 

"You?" 

There  was  apprehension,  disapprobation,  almost 
menace  in  his  tone.  I  bore  it  with  as  steady  and 
modest  a  glance  as  possible,  saying,  when  I  thought 
he  was  about  to  speak  again : 

"I  will  do  nothing  without  your  sanction.  I 
realize  the  dangers  of  this  inquiry  and  the  disgrace 
that  would  follow  if  our  attempt  was  suspected  be 
fore  proof  reached  a  point  sufficient  to  justify  it. 
It  is  not  an  open  attack  I  meditate,  but  one — " 
170 


I    ASTONISH    THE    INSPECTOR 

Here  I  whispered  in  his  ear  for  several  minutes. 
When  I  had  finished  he  gave  me  a  prolonged  stare, 
then  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  head. 

"You  are  a  little  wonder,"  he  declared.  "But 
your  ideas  are  very  quixotic,  very.  However,"  he 
added,  suddenly  growing  grave,  "something,  I 
must  admit,  may  be  excused  a  young  girl  who 
finds  herself  forced  to  choose  between  the  guilt  of 
her  lover  and  that  of  a  man  esteemed  great  by  the 
world,  but  altogether  removed  from  her  and  her 
natural  sympathies." 

"You  acknowledge,  then,  that  it  lies  between 
these  two?" 

"I  see  no  third,"  said  he. 

I  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"Don't  deceive  yourself,  Miss  Van  Arsdale ;  it  is 
not  among  the  possibilities  that  Mr.  Grey  has  had 
any  connection  with  this  crime.  He  is  an  eccentric 
man,  that's  all." 

"But— but— " 

"I  shall  do  my  duty.  I  shall  satisfy  you  and  my 
self  on  certain  points,  and  if — "  I  hardly  breathed 
171 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

— "there  is  the  least  doubt,  I  will  see  you  again 
and—" 

The  change  he  saw  in  me  frightened  away  the 
end  of  his  sentence.  Turning  upon  me  with  some 
severity,  he  declared :  "There  are  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  chances  in  a  thousand  that  my  next 
word  to  you  will  be  to  prepare  yourself  for  Mr. 
Durand's  arraignment  and  trial.  But  an  infinites 
imal  chance  remains  to  the  contrary.  If  you  choose 
to  trust  to  it,  I  can  only  admire  your  pluck  and  the 
great  confidence  you  show  in  your  unfortunate 
lover." 

And  with  this  half-hearted  encouragement  I  was 
forced  to  be  content,  not  only  for  that  day,  but  for 
many  days,  when — 


172 


XI 


THE  INSPECTOR  ASTONISHES  ME 

But  before  I  proceed  to  relate  what  happened  at 
the  end  of  those  two  weeks,  I  must  say  a  word  or 
two  in  regard  to  what  happened  during  them. 

Nothing  happened  to  improve  Mr.  Durand's  po 
sition,  and  nothing  openly  to  compromise  Mr. 
Grey's.  Mr.  Fairbrother,  from  whose  testimony 
many  of  us  hoped  something  would  yet  be  gleaned 
calculated  to  give  a  turn  to  the  suspicion  now  cen 
tered  on  one  man,  continued  ill  in  New  Mexico ;  and 
all  that  could  be  learned  from  him  of  any  impor 
tance  was  contained  in  a  short  letter  dictated  from 
his  bed,  in  which  he  affirmed  that  the  diamond,  when 
it  left  him,  was  in  a  unique  setting  procured  by 
himself  in  France;  that  he  knew  of  no  other  jewel 
similarly  mounted,  and  that  if  the  false  gem  was  set 
according  to  his  own  description,  the  probabilities 
were  that  the  imitation  stone  had  been  put  in  place 
173 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

of  the  real  one  under  his  wife's  direction  and  in 
some  workshop  in  New  York,  as  she  was  not  the 
woman  to  take  the  trouble  to  send  abroad  for  any 
thing  she  could  get  done  in  this  country.  The  de 
scription  followed.  It  coincided  with  the  one  we  all 
knew. 

This  was  something  of  a  blow  to  me.  Public 
opinion  would  naturally  reflect  that  of  the  husband, 
and  it  would  require  very  strong  evidence  indeed 
to  combat  a  logical  supposition  of  this  kind  with 
one  so  forced  and  seemingly  extravagant  as  that 
upon  which  my  own  theory  was  based.  Yet  truth 
often  transcends  imagination,  and,  having  confi 
dence  in  the  inspector's  integrity,  I  subdued  my 
impatience  for  a  week,  almost  for  two,  when  my 
suspense  and  rapidly  culminating  dread  of  some 
action  being  taken  against  Mr.  Durand  were  sud 
denly  cut  short  by  a  message  from  the  inspector, 
followed  by  his  speedy  presence  in  my  uncle's  house. 

We  have  a  little  room  on  our  parlor  floor,  very 
snug  and  secluded,  and  in  this  room  I  received  him. 
Seldom  have  I  dreaded  a  meeting  more  and  seldom 
174 


THE    INSPECTOR    ASTONISHES    ME 

have  I  been  met  with  greater  kindness  and  consider 
ation.  He  was  so  kind  that  I  feared  he  had  only 
disappointing  news  to  communicate,  but  his  first 
words  reassured  me.  He  said : 

"I  have  come  to  you  on  a  matter  of  importance. 
We  have  found  enough  truth  in  the  suppositions 
you  advanced  at  our  last  interview  to  warrant  us  in 
the  attempt  you  yourself  proposed  for  the  elucida 
tion  of  this  mystery.  That  this  is  the  most  risky 
and  altogether  the  most  unpleasant  duty  which  I 
have  encountered  during  my  several  years  of  ser 
vice,  I  am  willing  to  acknowledge  to  one  so  sensible 
and  at  the  same  time  of  so  much  modesty  as  your 
self.  This  English  gentleman  has  a  reputation 
which  lifts  him  far  above  any  unworthy  suspicion, 
and  were  it  not  for  the  favorable  impression  made 
upon  us  by  Mr.  Durand  in  a  long  talk  we  had  with 
him  last  night,  I  would  sooner  resign  my  place  than 
pursue  this  matter  against  him.  Success  would  cre 
ate  a  horror  on  both  sides  the  water  unprecedented 
during  my  career,  while  failure  would  bring  down 
ridicule  on  us  which  would  destroy  the  prestige  of 
175 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

the  whole  force.  Do  you  see  my  difficulty,  Miss  Van 
Arsdale?  We  can  not  even  approach  this  haughty 
and  highly  reputable  Englishman  with  questions 
without  calling  down  on  us  the  wrath  of  the  whole 
English  nation.  We  must  be  sure  before  we  make  a 
move,  and  for  us  to  be  sure  where  the  evidence  is  all 
circumstantial,  I  know  of  no  better  plan  than  the 
one  you  were  pleased  to  suggest,  which,  at  the  time, 
I  was  pleased  to  call  quixotic." 

Drawing  a  long  breath  I  surveyed  him  timidly. 
Never  had  I  so  realized  my  presumption  or  experi 
enced  such  a  thrill  of  joy  in  my  frightened  yet 
elated  heart.  They  believed  in  Anson's  innocence 
and  they  trusted  me.  Insignificant  as  I  was,  it  was 
to  my  exertions  this  great  result  was  due.  As  I 
realized  this,  I  felt  my  heart  swell  and  my  throat 
close.  In  despair  of  speaking  I  held  out  my  hands. 
He  took  them  kindly  and  seemed  to  be  quite  satis 
fied. 

"Such  a  little,  trembling,  tear-filled  Amazon !"  he 
cried.    "Shall  you  have  courage  to  undertake  the 
task  before  you  ?  If  not — " 
176 


THE    INSPECTOR    ASTONISHES    ME 

"Oh,  but  I  have,"  said  I.  "It  is  your  goodness 
and  the  surprise  of  it  all  which  unnerves  me.  I  can 
go  through  what  we  have  planned  if  you  think  the 
secret  of  my  personality  and  interest  in  Mr.  Durand 
can  be  kept  from  the  people  I  go  among." 

"It  can  if  you  will  follow  our  advice  implicitly. 
You  say  that  you  know  the  doctor  and  that  he 
stands  ready  to  recommend  you  in  case  Miss  Pierson 
withdraws  her  services." 

"Yes,  he  is  eager  to  give  me  a  chance.  He  was 
a  college  mate  of  my  father's." 

"How  will  you  explain  to  him  your  wish  to  enter 
upon  your  duties  under  another  name?" 

"Very  simply.  I  have  already  told  him  that  the 
publicity  given  my  name  in  the  late  proceedings  has 
made  me  very  uncomfortable;  that  my  first  case 
of  nursing  would  require  all  my  self-possession  and 
that  if  he  did  not  think  it  wrong  I  should  like  to  go 
to  it  under  my  mother's  name.  He  made  no  dissent 
and  I  think  I  can  persuade  him  that  I  would  do 
much  better  work  as  Miss  Ayers  than  as  the  too 
well-known  Miss  Van  Arsdale." 
177 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"You  have  great  powers  of  persuasion.  But  may 
you  not  meet  people  at  the  hotel  who  know  you  ?" 

"I  shall  try  to  avoid  people ;  and,  if  my  identity 
is  discovered,  its  effect  or  non-effect  upon  one  we 
find  it  difficult  to  mention  will  give  us  our  clue.  If 
he  has  no  guilty  interest  in  the  crime,  my  connec 
tion  with  it  as  a  witness  will  not  disturb  him.  Be 
sides,  two  days  of  unsuspicious  acceptance  of  me  as 
Miss  Grey's  nurse  are  all  I  want.  I  shall  take  im 
mediate  opportunity,  I  assure  you,  to  make  the  test 
I  mentioned.  But  how  much  confidence  you  will 
have  to  repose  in  me !  I  comprehend  all  the  impor 
tance  of  my  undertaking,  and  shall  work  as  if  my 
honor,  as  well  as  yours,  were  at  stake." 

"I  am  sure  you  will."  Then  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  was  glad  that  I  was  small  and  plain  rather 
than  tall  and  fascinating  like  so  many  of  my 
friends,  for  he  said :  "If  you  had  been  a  triumph 
ant  beauty,  depending  on  your  charms  as  a  woman 
to  win  people  to  your  will,  we  should  never  have 
listened  to  your  proposition  or  risked  our  reputa 
tion  in  your  hands.  It  is  your  wit,  your  earnestness 

178 


THE    INSPECTOR    ASTONISHES    ME 

and  your  quiet  determination  which  have  impressed 
us.  You  see  I  speak  plainly.  I  do  so  because  I  re 
spect  you.  And  now  to  business." 

Details  followed.  After  these  were  well  under 
stood  between  us,  I  ventured  to  say :  "Do  you  ob- 
ject — would  it  be  asking  too  much — if  I  requested 
some  enlightenment  as  to  what  facts  you  have  dis 
covered  about  Mr.  Grey  which  go  to  substantiate 
my  theory?  I  might  work  more  intelligently." 

"No,  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  you  would  not  work  more 
intelligently,  and  you  know  it.  But  you  have  the 
natural  curiosity  of  one  whose  very  heart  is  bound 
up  in  this  business.  I  could  deny  you  what  you  ask 
but  I  won't,  for  I  want  you  to  work  with  quiet  con 
fidence,  which  you  would  not  do  if  your  mind  were 
taken  up  with  doubts  and  questions.  Miss  Van  Ars 
dale,  one  surmise  of  yours  was  correct.  A  man  was 
sent  that  night  to  the  Ramsdell  house  with  a  note 
from  Miss  Grey.  We  know  this  because  he  boasted 
of  it  to  one  of  the  bell-boys  before  he  went  out,  say 
ing  that  he  was  going  to  have  a  glimpse  of  one  of 
the  swellest  parties  of  the  season.  It  is  also  true 
179 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that  this  man  was  Mr.  Grey's  valet,  an  old  servant 
who  came  over  with  him  from  England.  But  what 
adds  weight  to  all  this  and  makes  us  regard  the 
whole  affair  with  suspicion,  is  the  additional  fact 
that  this  man  received  his  dismissal  the  following 
morning  and  has  not  been  seen  since  by  any  one  we 
could  reach.  This  looks  bad  to  begin  with,  like  the 
suppression  of  evidence,  you  know.  Then  Mr. 
Grey  has  not  been  the  same  man  since  that  night. 
He  is  full  of  care  and  this  care  is  not  entirely  in 
connection  with  his  daughter,  who  is  doing  very 
well  and  bids  fair  to  be  up  in  a  few  days.  But  all 
this  would  be  nothing  if  we  had  not  received  advices 
from  England  which  prove  that  Mr.  Grey's  visit 
here  has  an  element  of  mystery  in  it.  There  was 
every  reason  for  his  remaining  in  his  own  country, 
where  a  political  crisis  is  approaching,  yet  he 
crossed  the  water,  bringing  his  sickly  daughter  with 
him.  The  explanation  as  volunteered  by  one  who 
knew  him  well  was  this :  That  only  his  desire  to  see 
or  acquire  some  precious  object  for  his  collection 
could  have  taken  him  across  the  ocean  at  this  time, 
180 


THE    INSPECTOR    ASTONISHES    ME 

nothing  else  rivaling  his  interest  in  governmental 
affairs.  Still  this  would  be  nothing  if  a  stiletto  simi 
lar  to  the  one  employed  in  this  crime  had  not  once 
formed  part  of  a  collection  of  curios  belonging  to 
a  cousin  of  his  whom  he  often  visited.  This  stiletto 
has  been  missing  for  some  time,  stolen,  as  the  owner 
declared,  by  some  unknown  person.  All  this  looks 
bad  enough,  but  when  I  tell  you  that  a  week  before 
the  fatal  ball  at  Mr.  Ramsdell's,  Mr.  Grey  made  a 
tour  of  the  jewelers  on  Broadway  and,  with  the 
pretext  of  buying  a  diamond  for  his  daughter,  en 
tered  into  a  talk  about  famous  stones,  ending  al 
ways  with  some  question  about  the  Fairbrother 
gem,  you  will  see  that  his  interest  in  that  stone  is 
established  and  that  it  only  remains  for  us  to  dis 
cover  if  that  interest  is  a  guilty  one.  I  can  not  be 
lieve  this  possible,  but  you  have  our  leave  to  make 
your  experiment  and  see.  Only  do  not  count  too 
much  on  his  superstition.  If  he  is  the  deep-dyed 
criminal  you  imagine,  the  cry  which  startled  us  all 
at  a  certain  critical  instant  was  raised  by  himself 
and  for  the  purpose  you  suggested.  None  of  the 
181 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

sensitiveness  often  shown  by  a  man  who  has  been 
surprised  into  crime  will  be  his.  Relying  on  his 
reputation  and  the  prestige  of  his  great  name,  he 
will,  if  he  thinks  himself  under  fire,  face  every 
shock  unmoved." 

"I  see ;  I  understand.  He  must  believe  himself  all 
alone;  then,  the  natural  man  may  appear.  I  thank 
you,  Inspector.  That  idea  is  of  inestimable  value 
to  me,  and  I  shall  act  on  it.  I  do  not  say  immedi 
ately  ;  not  on  the  first  day,  and  possibly  not  on  the 
second,  but  as  soon  as  opportunity  offers  for  my 
doing  what  I  have  planned  with  any  chance  of  suc 
cess.  And  now,  advise  me  how  to  circumvent  my 
uncle  and  aunt,  who  must  never  know  to  what  an 
undertaking  I  have  committed  myself." 

Inspector  Dalzell  spared  me  another  fifteen  min 
utes,  and  this  last  detail  was  arranged.  Then  he 
rose  to  go.  As  he  turned  from  me  he  said : 

"To-morrow?" 

And  I  answered  with  a  full  heart,  but  a  voice 
clear  as  my  purpose: 

"To-morrow." 

182 


XII 


ALMOST 

"This  is  your  patient.  Your  new  nurse,  my  dear. 
What  did  you  say  your  name  is  ?  Miss  Ayers  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Grey,  Alice  Ayers." 

"Oh,  what  a  sweet  name !" 

This  expressive  greeting,  from  the  patient  her 
self,  was  the  first  heart-sting  I  received, — a  sting 
which  brought  a  flush  into  my  cheek  which  I  would 
fain  have  kept  down. 

"Since  a  change  of  nurses  was  necessary,  I  am 
glad  they  sent  me  one  like  you,"  the  feeble,  but 
musical  voice  went  on,  and  I  saw  a  wasted  but  eager 
hand  stretched  out. 

In  a  whirl  of  strong  feeling  I  advanced  to  take  it. 
I  had  not  counted  on  such  a  reception.  I  had  not 
expected  any  bond  of  congeniality  to  spring  up  be 
tween  this  high-feeling  English  girl  and  myself  to 
make  my  purpose  hateful  to  me.  Yet,  as  I  stood 
183 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

there  looking  down  at  her  bright  if  wasted  face,  I 
felt  that  it  would  be  very  easy  to  love  so  gentle  and 
cordial  a  being,  and  dreaded  raising  my  eyes  to  the 
gentleman  at  my  side  lest  I  should  see  something  in 
him  to  hamper  me,  and  make  this  attempt,  which  I 
had  undertaken  in  such  loyalty  of  spirit,  a  misery  to 
myself  and  ineffectual  to  the  man  I  had  hoped  to 
save  by  it.  When  I  did  look  up  and  catch  the  first 
beams  of  Mr.  Grey's  keen  blue  eyes  fixed  inquir 
ingly  on  me,  I  neither  knew  what  to  think  nor  how 
to  act.  He  was  tall  and  firmly  knit,  and  had  an  in 
tellectual  aspect  altogether.  I  was  conscious  of  re 
garding  him  with  a  decided  feeling  of  awe,  and 
found  myself  forgetting  why  I  had  come  there,  and 
what  my  suspicions  were, — suspicions  which  had 
carried  hope  with  them,  hope  for  myself  and  hope 
for  my  lover,  who  would  never  escape  the  oppro 
brium,  even  if  he  did  the  punishment,  of  this  great 
crime,  were  this,  the  only  other  person  who  could 
possibly  be  associated  with  it,  found  to  be  the  fine, 
clear-souled  man  he  appeared  to  be  in  this  my  first 
interview  with  him. 

184 


ALMOST 

Perceiving  very  soon  that  his  apprehensions  in 
my  regard  were  limited  to  a  fear  lest  I  should  not 
feel  at  ease  in  my  new  home  under  the  restraint  of  a 
presence  more  accustomed  to  intimidate  than  at 
tract  strangers,  I  threw  aside  all  doubts  of  myself 
and  met  the  advances  of  both  father  and  daughter 
with  that  quiet  confidence  which  my  position  there 
demanded. 

The  result  both  gratified  and  grieved  me.  As  a 
nurse  entering  on  her  first  case  I  was  happy ;  as  a 
woman  with  an  ulterior  object  in  view  verging  on 
the  audacious  and  unspeakable,  I  was  wretched  and 
regretful  and  just  a  little  shaken  in  the  conviction 
which  had  hitherto  upheld  me. 

I  was  therefore  but  poorly  prepared  to  meet  the 
ordeal  which  awaited  me,  when,  a  little  later  in  the 
day,  Mr.  Grey  called  me  into  the  adjoining  room, 
and,  after  saying  that  it  would  afford  him  great 
relief  to  go  out  for  an  hour  or  so,  asked  if  I  were 
afraid  to  be  left  alone  with  my  patient. 

"O  no,  sir — "  I  began,  but  stopped  in  secret  dis 
may.  I  was  afraid,  but  not  on  account  of  her  con- 
185 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

dition;  rather  on  account  of  my  own.  What  if  I 
should  be  led  into  betraying  my  feelings  on  finding 
myself  under  no  other  eye  than  her  own !  What  if 
the  temptation  to  probe  her  poor  sick  mind  should 
prove  stronger  than  my  duty  toward  her  as  a  nurse ! 

My  tones  were  hesitating  but  Mr.  Grey  paid  lit 
tle  heed ;  his  mind  was  too  fixed  on  what  he  wished 
to  say  himself. 

"Before  I  go,"  said  he,  "I  have  a  request  to  make 
— I  may  as  well  say  a  caution  to  give  you.  Do  not, 
I  pray,  either  now  or  at  any  future  time,  carry  or 
allow  any  one  else  to  carry  newspapers  into  Miss 
Grey's  room.  They  are  just  now  too  alarming. 
There  has  been,  as  you  know,  a  dreadful  murder 
in  this  city.  If  she  caught  one  glimpse  of  the  head 
lines,  or  saw  so  much  as  the  name  of  Fairbrother — 
which — which  is  a  name  she  knows,  the  result  might 
be  very  hurtful  to  her.  She  is  not  only  extremely 
sensitive  from  illness  but  from  temperament.  Will 
you  be  careful  ?" 

"I  shall  be  careful." 

It  was  such  an  effort  for  me  to  say  these  words, 
186 


ALMOST 

to  say  anything  in  the  state  of  mind  into  which  I 
had  been  thrown  by  his  unexpected  allusion  to  this 
subject,  that  I  unfortunately  drew  his  attention  to 
myself  and  it  was  with  what  I  felt  to  be  a  glance 
of  doubt  that  he  added  with  decided  emphasis : 

"You  must  consider  this  whole  subject  as  a  for 
bidden  one  in  this  family.  Only  cheerful  topics  are 
suitable  for  the  sick-room.  If  Miss  Grey  attempts 
to  introduce  any  other,  stop  her.  Do  not  let  her 
talk  about  anything  which  will  not  be  conducive  to 
her  speedy  recovery.  These  are  the  only  instruc 
tions  I  have  to  give  you ;  all  others  must  come  from 
her  physician." 

I  made  some  reply  with  as  little  show  of  emotion 
as  possible.  It  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  his  face 
cleared  as  he  kindly  observed : 

"You  have  a  very  trustworthy  look  for  one  so 
young.  I  shall  rest  easy  while  you  are  with  her,  and 
I  shall  expect  you  to  be  always  with  her  when  I  am 
not.  Every  moment,  mind.  She  is  never  to  be  left 
alone  with  gossiping  servants.  If  a  word  is  men 
tioned  in  her  hearing  about  this  crime  which  seems 
187 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

to  be  in  everybody's  mouth,  I  shall  feel  forced, 
greatly  as  I  should  regret  the  fact,  to  blame  you." 

This  was  a  heart-stroke,  but  I  kept  up  bravely, 
changing  color  perhaps,  but  not  to  such  a  marked 
degree  as  to  arouse  any  deeper  suspicion  in  his 
mind  than  that  I  had  been  wounded  in  my  amour 
propre. 

"She  shall  be  well  guarded,"  said  I.  "You  may 
trust  me  to  keep  from  her  all  avoidable  knowledge 
of  this  crime." 

He  bowed  and  I  was  about  to  leave  his  presence, 
when  he  detained  me  by  remarking  with  the  air  of 
one  who  felt  that  some  explanation  was  necessary : 

"I  was  at  the  ball  where  this  crime  took  place. 
Naturally  it  has  made  a  deep  impression  on  me  and 
would  on  her  if  she  heard  of  it." 

"Assuredly,"  I  murmured,  wondering  if  he  would 
say  more  and  how  I  should  have  the  courage  to 
stand  there  and  listen  if  he  did. 

"It  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  come  in  contact 
with  crime,"  he  went  on  with  what,  in  one  of  his 
reserved  nature,  seemed  a  hardly  natural  insistence. 
188 


ALMOST 

"I  could  well  have  been  spared  the  experience.  A 
tragedy  with  which  one  has  been  even  thus  remotely 
connected  produces  a  lasting  effect  upon  the  mind." 

"Oh  yes,  oh  yes !"  I  murmured,  edging  involun 
tarily  toward  the  door.  Did  I  not  know  ?  Had  I  not 
been  there,  too;  I,  little  I,  whom  he  stood  gazing 
down  upon  from  such  a  height,  little  realizing  the 
fatality  which  united  us  and,  what  was  even  a  more 
overwhelming  thought  to  me  at  the  moment,  the 
fact  that  of  all  persons  in  the  world  the  shrinking 
little  being,  into  whose  eyes  he  was  then  looking, 
was,  perhaps,  his  greatest  enemy  and  the  one  per 
son,  great  or  small,  from  whom  he  had  the  most  to 
fear. 

But  I  was  no  enemy  to  his  gentle  daughter  and 
the  relief  I  felt  at  finding  myself  thus  cut  off  by 
my  own  promise  from  even  the  remotest  communi 
cation  with  her  on  this  forbidden  subject  was  genu 
ine  and  sincere. 

But  the  father!  What  was  I  to  think  of  the 
father?  Alas!  I  could  have  but  one  thought,  ad 
mirable  as  he  appeared  in  all  lights  save  the  one  in 
189 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

which  his  too  evident  connection  with  this  crime  had 
placed  him.  I  spent  the  hours  of  the  afternoon  in 
alternately  watching  the  sleeping  face  of  my  pa 
tient,  too  sweetly  calm  in  its  repose,  or  so  it  seemed, 
for  the  mind  beneath  to  harbor  such  doubts  as  were 
shown  in  the  warning  I  had  ascribed  to  her,  and 
vain  eff orts  to  explain  by  any  other  hypothesis  than 
that  of  guilt,  the  extraordinary  evidence  which 
linked  this  man  of  great  affairs  and  the  loftiest 
repute  to  a  crime  involving  both  theft  and  murder. 
Nor  did  the  struggle  end  that  night.  It  was  re 
newed  with  still  greater  positiveness  the  next  day, 
as  I  witnessed  the  glances  which  from  time  to  time 
passed  between  this  father  and  daughter, — glances 
full  of  doubt  and  question  on  both  sides,  but  not 
exactly  such  doubt  or  such  question  as  my  sus 
picions  called  for.  Or  so  I  thought,  and  spent  an 
other  day  or  two  hesitating  very  much  over  my 
duty,  when,  coming  unexpectedly  upon  Mr.  Grey 
one  evening,  I  felt  all  my  doubts  revive  in  view  of 
the  extraordinary  expression  of  dread — I  might 
with  still  greater  truth  say  fear — which  informed 
190 


ALMOST 

liis  features  and  made  them,  to  my  unaccustomed 
eyes,  almost  unrecognizable. 

He  was  sitting  at  his  desk  in  reverie  over  some 
papers  which  he  seemed  not  to  have  touched  for 
hours,  and  when,  at  some  movement  I  made,  he 
started  up  and  met  my  eye,  I  could  swear  that  his 
cheek  was  pale,  the  firm  carriage  of  his  body 
shaken,  and  the  whole  man  a  victim  to  some  strong 
and  secret  apprehension  he  vainly  sought  to  hide. 
When  I  ventured  to  tell  him  what  I  wanted,  he  made 
an  effort  and  pulled  himself  together,  but  I  had 
seen  him  with  his  mask  off,  and  his  usually  calm 
visage  and  self-possessed  mien  could  not  again  de 
ceive  me. 

My  duties  kept  me  mainly  at  Miss  Grey's  bed 
side,  but  I  had  been  provided  with  a  little  room 
across  the  hall,  and  to  this  room  I  retired  very  soon 
after  this,  for  rest  and  a  necessary  understanding 
with  myself. 

For,  in  spite  of  this  experience  and  my  now  set 
tled  convictions,  my  purpose  required  whetting. 
The  indescribable  charm,  the  extreme  refinement 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

and  nobility  of  manner  observable  in  both  Mr. 
Grey  and  his  daughter  were  producing  their  effect. 
I  felt  guilty;  constrained.  Whatever  my  convic 
tions,  the  impetus  to  act  was  leaving  me.  How  could 
I  recover  it?  By  thinking  of  Anson  Durand  and 
his  present  disgraceful  position. 

Anson  Durand!  Oh,  how  the  feeling  surged  up 
in  my  breast  as  that  name  slipped  from  my  lips  on 
crossing  the  threshold  of  my  little  room!  Anson 
Durand,  whom  I  believed  innocent,  whom  I  loved, 
but  whom  I  was  betraying  with  every  moment  of 
hesitation  in  which  I  allowed  myself  to  indulge! 
What  if  the  Honorable  Mr.  Grey  is  an  eminent 
statesman,  a  dignified,  scholarly,  and  to  all  appear 
ance,  high-minded  man?  What  if  my  patient  is 
sweet,  dove-eyed  and  affectionate?  Had  not  Anson 
qualities  as  excellent  in  their  way,  rights  as  certain, 
and  a  hold  upon  myself  superior  to  any  claims 
which  another  might  advance?  Drawing  a  much- 
crumpled  little  note  from  my  pocket,  I  eagerly  read 
it.  It  was  the  only  one  I  had  of  his  writing,  the 
only  letter  he  had  ever  written  me.  I  had  already 
192 


ALMOST 

re-read  it  a  hundred  times,  but  as  I  once  more  re 
peated  to  myself  its  well-known  lines,  I  felt  my 
heart  grow  strong  and  fixed  in  the  determination 
which  had  brought  me  into  this  family. 

Restoring  the  letter  to  its  place,  I  opened  my 
gripsack  and  from  its  inmost  recesses  drew  forth 
an  object  which  I  had  no  sooner  in  hand  than  a 
natural  sense  of  disquietude  led  me  to  glance  ap 
prehensively,  first  at  the  door,  then  at  the  window, 
though  I  had  locked  the  one  and  shaded  the  other. 
It  seemed  as  if  some  other  eye  besides  my  own  must 
be  gazing  at  what  I  held  so  gingerly  in  hand ;  that 
the  walls  were  watching  me,  if  nothing  else,  and  the 
sensation  this  produced  was  so  exactly  like  that  of 
guilt  (or  what  I  imagined  to  be  guilt),  that  I  was 
forced  to  repeat  once  more  to  myself  that  it  was 
not  a  good  man's  overthrow  I  sought,  or  even  a  bad 
man's  immunity  from  punishment,  but  the  truth, 
the  absolute  truth.  No  shame  could  equal  that 
which  I  should  feel  if,  by  any  over-delicacy  now,  I 
failed  to  save  the  man  who  trusted  me. 

The  article  which  I  held — have  you  guessed  it  ? — 
193 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

was  the  stiletto  with  which  Mrs.  Fairbrother  had 
been,  killed.  It  had  been  intrusted  to  me  by  the 
police  for  a  definite  purpose.  The  time  for  testing 
that  purpose  had  come,  or  so  nearly  come,  that  I 
felt  I  must  be  thinking  about  the  necessary  ways 
and  means. 

Unwinding  the  folds  of  tissue  paper  in  which  the 
stiletto  was  wrapped,  I  scrutinized  the  weapon  very 
carefully.  Hitherto,  I  had  seen  only  pictures  of  it, 
now,  I  had  the  article  itself  in  my  hand.  It  was  not 
a  natural  one  for  a  young  woman  to  hold,  a  woman 
whose  taste  ran  more  toward  healing  than  inflicting 
wounds,  but  I  forced  myself  to  forget  why  the  end 
ef  its  blade  was  rusty,  and  looked  mainly  at  the  de 
vices  which  ornamented  the  handle.  I  had  not  been 
mistaken  in  them.  They  belonged  to  the  house  of 
Grey,  and  to  none  other.  It  was  a  legitimate  in 
quiry  I  had  undertaken.  However  the  matter  ended, 
I  should  always  have  these  historic  devices  for  my 
excuse. 

My  plan  was  to  lay  this  dagger  on  Mr.  Grey's 
desk  at  a  moment  when  he  would  be  sure  to  see  it 

194 


ALMOST 

and  I  to  see  him.  If  he  betrayed  a  guilty  knowledge 
of  tliis  fatal  steel ;  if,  unconscious  of  my  presence, 
he  showed  surprise  and  apprehension, — then  we 
should  know  how  to  proceed;  justice  would  be 
loosed  from  constraint  and  the  police  feel  at  liberty 
to  approach  him.  It  was  a  delicate  task,  this.  I 
realized  how  delicate,  when  I  had  thrust  the  stiletto 
out  of  sight  under  my  nurse's  apron  and  started  to 
cross  the  hall.  Should  I  find  the  library  clear? 
Would  the  opportunity  be  given  me  to  approach 
his  desk,  or  should  I  have  to  carry  this  guilty  wit 
ness  of  a  world-famous  crime  on  into  Miss  Grey's 
room,  and  with  its  unholy  outline  pressing  a  sem 
blance  of  itself  upon  my  breast,  sit  at  that  innocent 
pillow,  meet  those  innocent  eyes,  and  answer  the 
gentle  inquiries  which  now  and  then  fell  from  the 
sweetest  lips  I  have  ever  seen  smile  into  the  face  of 
a  lonely,  preoccupied  stranger? 

The  arrangement  of  the  rooms  was  such  as  made 
it  necessary  for  me  to  pass  through  this  sitting- 
room  in  order  to  reach  my  patient's  bedroom. 

With  careful  tread,  so  timed  as  not  to  appear 
195 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

stealthy,  I  accordingly  advanced  and  pushed  open 
the  door.  The  room  was  empty.  Mr.  Grey  was  still 
with  his  daughter  and  I  could  cross  the  floor  with 
out  fear.  But  never  had  I  entered  upon  a  task  re 
quiring  more  courage  or  one  more  obnoxious  to  my 
natural  instincts.  I  hated  each  step  I  took,  but  I 
loved  the  man  for  whom  I  took  those  steps,  and 
moved  resolutely  on.  Only,  as  I  reached  the  chair 
in  which  Mr.  Grey  was  accustomed  to  sit,  I  found 
that  it  was  easier  to  plan  an  action  than  to  carry  it 
out.  Home  life  and  the  domestic  virtues  had  al 
ways  appealed  to  me  more  than  a  man's  greatness. 
The  position  which  this  man  held  in  his  own  coun 
try,  his  usefulness  there,  even  his  prestige  as  states 
man  and  scholar,  were  facts,  but  very  dreamy  facts, 
to  me,  while  his  feelings  as  a  father,  the  place  he 
held  in  his  daughter's  heart — these  were  real  to  me, 
these  I  could  understand;  and  it  was  of  these  and 
not  of  his  place  as  a  man,  that  this  his  favorite 
seat  spoke  to  me.  How  often  had  I  beheld  him  sit 
by  the  hour  with  his  eye  on  the  door  behind  which 
his  one  darling  lay  ill !  Even  now,  it  was  easy  for 
196 


ALMOST 

me  to  recall  his  face  as  I  had  sometimes  caught  a 
glimpse  of  it  through  the  crack  of  the  suddenly 
opened  door,  and  I  felt  my  breast  heave  and  my 
hand  falter  as  I  drew  forth  the  stiletto  and  moved  to 
place  it  where  his  eye  would  fall  upon  it  on  his  leav 
ing  his  daughter's  bedside. 

But  my  hand  returned  quickly  to  my  breast 
and  fell  back  again  empty.  A  pile  of  letters  lay 
before  me  on  the  open  lid  of  the  desk.  The  top  one 
was  addressed  to  me  with  the  word  "Important" 
written  in  the  corner.  I  did  not  know  the  writing, 
but  I  felt  that  I  should  open  and  read  this  letter  be 
fore  committing  myself  or  those  who  stood  back  of 
me  to  this  desperate  undertaking. 

Glancing  behind  me  and  seeing  that  the  door  into 
Miss  Grey's  room  was  ajar,  I  caught  up  this  letter 
and  rushed  with  it  back  into  my  own  room.  As  I 
surmised,  it  was  from  the  inspector,  and  as  I  read  it 
I  realized  that  I  had  received  it  not  one  moment  too 
soon.  In  language  purposely  non-committal,  but 
of  a  meaning  not  to  be  mistaken,  it  advised  me  that 
some  unforeseen  facts  had  come  to  light  which  al- 
197 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

tered  all  former  suspicions  and  made  the  little  sur 
prise  I  had  planned  no  longer  necessary. 

There  was  no  allusion  to  Mr.  Durand  but  the 
final  sentence  ran : 

"Drop  all  care  and  give  your  undivided  attention 
to  your  patient." 


198 


XIII 

THE  MISSING  EECOMMENDATION 

My  patient  slept  that  night,  but  I  did  not.  The 
shock  given  by  this  sudden,  cry  of  Halt!  at  the 
very  moment  I  was  about  to  make  my  great  move, 
the  uncertainty  as  to  what  it  meant  and  my  doubt 
of  its  effect  upon  Mr.  Durand's  position,  put  me 
on  the  anxious  seat  and  kept  my  thoughts  fully  oc 
cupied  till  morning. 

I  was  very  tired  and  must  have  shown  it,  when, 
with  the  first  rays  of  a  very  meager  sun,  Miss  Grey 
softly  unclosed  her  eyes  and  found  me  looking  at 
her,  for  her  smile  had  a  sweet  compassion  in  it, 
and  she  said  as  she  pressed  my  hand : 

"You  must  have  watched  me  all  night.  I  never 
saw  any  one  look  so  tired, — or  so  good,"  she  softly 
finished. 

I  had  rather  she  had  not  uttered  that  last  phrase. 
It  did  not  fit  me  at  the  moment, — did  not  fit  me, 

199 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

perhaps,  at  any  time.  Good !  I !  when  my  thoughts 
had  not  been  with  her,  but  with  Mr.  Durand ;  when 
the  dominating  feeling  in  my  breast  was  not  that  of 
relief,  but  a  vague  regret  that  I  had  not  been  al 
lowed  to  make  my  great  test  and  so  establish,  to  my 
own  satisfaction,  at  least,  the  perfect  innocence  of 
my  lover  even  at  the  cost  of  untold  anguish  to  this 
confiding  girl  upon  whose  gentle  spirit  the  very 
thought  of  crime  would  cast  a  deadly  blight. 

I  must  have  flushed ;  certainly  I  showed  some  em 
barrassment,  for  her  eyes  brightened  with  shy 
laughter  as  she  whispered : 

"You  do  not  like  to  be  praised, — another  of  your 
virtues.  You  have  too  many.  I  hate  only  one — I 
love  my  friends." 

She  did.    One  could  see  that  love  was  life  to  her. 

For  an  instant  I  trembled.  How  near  I  had  been 
to  wrecking  this  gentle  soul !  Was  she  safe  yet  ?  I 
was  not  sure.  My  own  doubts  were  not  satisfied.  I 
awaited  the  papers  with  feverish  impatience.  They 
should  contain  news.  News  of  what?  Ah,  that  was 
the  question ! 

200 


THE    MISSING    RECOMMENDATION 

"You  will  let  me  see  my  mail  this  morning,  will 
you  not?"  she  asked,  as  I  busied  myself  about  her. 

"That  is  for  the  doctor  to  say,"  I  smiled.  "You 
are  certainly  better  this  morning." 

"It  is  so  hard  for  me  not  to  be  able  to  read  his 
letters,  or  to  write  a  word  to  relieve  his  anxiety." 

Thus  she  told  me  her  heart's  secret,  and  uncon 
sciously  added  another  burden  to  my  already  too 
heavy  load. 

I  was  on  my  way  to  give  some  orders  about  my 
patient's  breakfast,  when  Mr.  Grey  came  into  the 
sitting-room  and  met  me  face  to  face.  He  had  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand  and  my  heart  stood  still  as 
I  noted  his  altered  looks  and  disturbed  manner. 
Were  these  due  to  anything  he  had  found  in  those 
columns  ?  It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  kept  my  eyes 
from  the  paper  which  he  held  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  disclose  its  glaring  head-lines.  These  I  dared  not 
read  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  mine. 

"How  is  Miss  Grey?   How  is  my  daughter?"  he 
asked  in  great  haste  and  uneasiness.   "Is  she  better 
this  morning,  or — worse?" 
201 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Better,"  I  assured  him,  and  was  greatly  aston 
ished  to  see  his  brow  instantly  clear. 

"Really?"  he  asked.  "You  really  consider  her 
better?  The  doctors  say  so,  but  I  have  not  very 
much  faith  in  doctors  in  a  case  like  this,"  he  added. 

"I  have  seen  no  reason  to  distrust  them,"  I  pro 
tested.  "Miss  Grey's  illness,  while  severe,  does  not 
appear  to  be  of  an  alarming  nature.  But  then  I 
have  had  very  little  experience  out  of  the  hospital. 
I  am  young  yet,  Mr.  Grey." 

He  looked  as  if  he  quite  agreed  with  me  in  this 
estimate  of  myself,  and,  with  a  brow  still  clouded, 
passed  into  his  daughter's  room,  the  paper  in  his 
hand.  Before  I  joined  them  I  found  and  scanned 
another  journal.  Expecting  great  things,  I  was 
both  surprised  and  disappointed  to  find  only  a 
small  paragraph  devoted  to  the  Fairbr  other  case. 
In  this  it  was  stated  that  the  authorities  hoped  for 
new  light  on  this  mystery  as  soon  as  they  had  lo 
cated  a  certain  witness,  whose  connection  with  the 
crime  they  had  just  discovered.  No  more,  no  less 
than  was  contained  in  Inspector  Dalzell's  letter. 

to* 


THE    MISSING   RECOMMENDATION 

How  could  I  bear  it, — the  suspense,  the  doubt, — 
and  do  my  duty  to  my  patient !  Happily,  I  had  no 
choice.  I  had  been  adjudged  equal  to  this  business 
and  I  must  prove  myself  to  be  so.  Perhaps  my 
courage  would  revive  after  I  had  had  my  breakfast ; 
perhaps  then  I  should  be  able  to  fix  upon  the 
identity  of  the  new  witness, — something  which  I 
found  myself  incapable  of  at  this  moment. 

These  thoughts  were  on  my  mind  as  I  crossed 
the  rooms  on  my  way  back  to  Miss  Grey's  bedside. 
By  the  time  I  reached  her  door  I  was  outwardly 
calm,  as  her  first  words  showed : 

"Oh,  the  cheerful  smile !  It  makes  me  feel  better 
in  spite  of  myself." 

If  she  could  have  seen  into  my  heart ! 

Mr.  Grey,  who  was  leaning  over  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  cast  me  a  quick  glance  which  was  not  without 
its  suspicion.  Had  he  detected  me  playing  a  part, 
or  were  such  doubts  as  he  displayed  the  product 
simply  of  his  own  uneasiness  ?  I  was  not  able  to  de 
cide,  and,  with  this  unanswered  question  added  to 
the  number  already  troubling  me,  I  was  forced  to 
203 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

face  the  day  which,  for  aught  I  knew,  might  be  the 
precursor  of  many  others  equally  trying  and  un 
satisfactory. 

But  help  was  near.  Before  noon  I  received  a  mes 
sage  from  my  uncle  to  the  effect  that  if  I  could  be 
spared  he  would  be  glad  to  see  me  at  his  home  as 
near  three  o'clock  as  possible.  What  could  he  want 
of  me?  I  could  not  guess,  and  it  was  with  great 
inner  perturbation  that,  having  won  Mr.  Grey's 
permission,  I  responded  to  his  summons. 

I  found  my  uncle  awaiting  me  in  a  carriage  be 
fore  his  own  door,  and  I  took  my  seat  at  his  side 
without  the  least  idea  of  his  purpose.  I  supposed 
that  he  had  planned  this  ride  that  he  might  talk  to 
me  unreservedly  and  without  fear  of  interruption. 
But  I  soon  saw  that  he  had  some  very  different  ob 
ject  in  view,  for  not  only  did  he  start  down  town  in 
stead  of  up,  but  his  conversation,  such  as  it  was, 
confined  itself  to  generalities  and  studiously  avoided 
the  one  topic  of  supreme  interest  to  us  both. 

At  last,  as  we  turned  into  Bleecker  Street,  I  let 
my  astonishment  and  perplexity  appear. 
204 


THE    MISSING    RECOMMENDATION 

"Where  are  we  bound?"  I  asked.  "It  can  not  be 
that  you  are  taking  me  to  see  Mr.  Durand?" 

"No,"  said  he,  and  said  no  more. 

"Ah,  Police  Headquarters !"  I  faltered  as  the  car 
riage  made  another  turn  and  drew  up  before  a 
building  I  had  reason  to  remember.  "Uncle,  what 
am  I  to  do  here?" 

"See  a  friend,"  he  answered,  as  he  helped  me  to 
alight.  Then  as  I  followed  him  in  some  bewilder 
ment,  he  whispered  in  my  ear:  "Inspector  Dalzell. 
He  wants  a  few  minutes  conversation  with  you." 

Oh,  the  weight  which  fell  from  my  shoulders  at 
these  words!  I  was  to  hear,  then,  what  had  inter 
vened  between  me  and  my  purpose.  The  wearing 
night  I  had  anticipated  was  to  be  lightened  with 
some  small  spark  of  knowledge.  I  had  confidence 
enough  in  the  kind-hearted  inspector  to  be  sure  of 
that.  I  caught  at  my  uncle's  arm  and  squeezed  it 
delightedly,  quite  oblivious  of  the  curious  glances 
I  must  have  received  from  the  various  officials  we 
passed  on  our  way  to  the  inspector's  office. 

We  found  him  waiting  for  us,  and  I  experienced 
205 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

such  pleasure  at  sight  of  his  kind  and  earnest  face 
that  I  hardly  noticed  uncle's  sly  retreat  till  the  door 
closed  behind  him. 

"Oh,  Inspector,  what  has  happened?"  I  impetu 
ously  exclaimed  in  answer  to  his  greeting.  "Some 
thing  that  will  help  Mr.  Durand  without  disturbing 
Mr.  Grey — have  you  as  good  news  for  me  as  that  ?" 

"Hardly,"  he  answered,  moving  up  a  chair  and 
seating  me  in  it  with  a  fatherly  air  which,  under 
the  circumstances,  was  more  discouraging  than  con 
solatory.  "We  have  simply  heard  of  a  new  witness, 
or  rather  a  fact  has  come  to  light  which  has  turned 
our  inquiries  into  a  new  direction." 

"And — and — you  can  not  tell  me  what  this  fact 
is  ?"  I  faltered  as  he  showed  no  intention  of  adding 
anything  to  this  very  unsatisfactory  explanation. 

"I  should  not,  but  you  were  willing  to  do  so  much 
for  us  I  must  set  aside  my  principles  a  little  and  do 
something  for  you.  After  all,  it  is  only  forestalling 
the  reporters  by  a  day.  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  this  is 
the  story:  Yesterday  morning  a  man  was  shown 
into  this  room,  and  said  that  he  had  information  to 
206 


THE    MISSING    RECOMMENDATION 

give  which  might  possibly  prove  to  have  some  bear 
ing  on  the  Fairbrother  case.  I  had  seen  the  man 
before  and  recognized  him  at  the  first  glance  ai  one 
of  the  witnesses  who  made  the  inquest  unnecessarily 
tedious.  Do  you  remember  Jones,  the  caterer,  who 
had  only  two  or  three  facts  to  give  and  yet  who 
used  up  the  whole  afternoon  in  trying  to  state  those 
facts?" 

"I  do,  indeed,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  he  was  the  man,  and  I  own  that  I  was  none 
too  delighted  to  see  lu'm.  But  he  was  more  at  his 
ease  with  me  than  I  expected,  and  I  soon  learned 
what  he  had  to  tell.  It  was  this:  One  of  his  men 
had  suddenly  left  him,  one  of  his  very  best  men, 
one  of  those  who  had  been  with  him  in  the  capacity 
of  waiter  at  the  Ramsdell  ball.  It  was  not  uncom 
mon  for  his  men  to  leave  him,  but  they  usually  gave 
notice.  This  man  gave  no  notice ;  he  simply  did  not 
show  up  at  the  usual  hour.  This  was  a  week  or  two 
ago.  Jones,  having  a  liking  for  the  man,  who  was 
an  excellent  waiter,  sent  a  messenger  to  his  lodging- 
house  to  see  if  he  were  ill.  But  he  had  left  his  lodg- 
207 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

ings  with  as  little  ceremony  as  he  had  left  the  ca 
terer. 

"This,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  have 
ended  the  business,  but  there  being  some  great  func 
tion  in  prospect,  Jones  did  not  feel  like  losing  so 
good  a  man  without  making  an  effort  to  recover 
him,  so  he  looked  up  his  references  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  some  clue  to  his  present  whereabouts. 

"He  kept  all  such  matters  in  a  special  book  and 
expected  to  have  no  trouble  in  finding  the  man's 
name,  James  Wellgood,  or  that  of  his  former  em 
ployer.  But  when  he  came  to  consult  this  book,  he 
was  astonished  to  find  that  nothing  was  recorded 
against  this  man's  name  but  the  date  of  his  first 
employment — March  15. 

"Had  he  hired  him  without  a  recommendation? 
He  would  not  be  likely  to,  yet  the  page  was 
clear  of  all  reference ;  only  the  name  and  the  date. 
But  the  date!  You  have  already  noted  its  signifi 
cance,  and  later  he  did,  too.  The  day  of  the  Rams- 
dell  ball !  The  day  of  the  great  murder !  As  he  re 
called  the  incidents  of  that  day  he  understood  why 
208 


THE    MISSING    RECOMMENDATION 

the  record  of  Wellgood' s  name  was  unaccompanied 
by  the  usual  reference.  It  had  been  a  difficult  day 
all  round.  The  function  was  an  important  one,  and 
the  weather  bad.  There  was,  besides,  an  unusual 
shortage  in  his  number  of  assistants.  Two  men 
had  that  very  morning  been  laid  up  with  sickness, 
and  when  this  able-looking,  self-confident  Wellgood 
presented  himself  for  immediate  employment,  he 
took  him  out  of  hand  with  the  merest  glance  at 
what  looked  like  a  very  satisfactory  reference. 
Later,  he  had  intended  to  look  up  this  reference, 
which  he  had  been  careful  to  preserve  by  sticking 
it,  along  with  other  papers,  on  his  spike-file.  But  in 
the  distractions  following  the  untoward  events  of 
the  evening,  he  had  neglected  to  do  so,  feeling  per 
fectly  satisfied  with  the  man's  work  and  general  be 
havior.  Now  it  was  a  different  thing.  The  man  had 
left  him  summarily,  and  he  felt  impelled  to  hunt  up 
the  person  who  had  recommended  him  and  see 
whether  this  was  the  first  time  that  Wellgood  had 
repaid  good  treatment  with  bad.  Running  through 
the  papers  with  which  his  file  was  now  full,  he  found 
209 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that  the  one  he  sought  was  not  there.  This  roused 
him  in  good  earnest,  for  he  was  certain  that  he  had 
not  removed  it  himself  and  there  was  no  one  else 
who  had  the  right  to  do  so.  He  suspected  the  cul 
prit, — a  young  lad  who  occasionally  had  access  to 
his  desk.  But  this  boy  was  no  longer  in  the  office. 
He  had  dismissed  him  for  some  petty  fault  the 
previous  week,  and  it  took  him  several  days  to  find 
him  again.  Meantime  his  anger  grew  and  when  he 
finally  came  face  to  face  with  the  lad,  he  accused 
him  of  the  suspected  trick  with  so  much  vehemence 
that  the  inevitable  happened,  and  the  boy  confessed. 
This  is  what  he  acknowledged.  He  had  taken  the 
reference  off  the  file,  but  only  to  give  it  to  Well- 
good  himself,  who  had  offered  him  money  for  it. 
When  asked  how  much  money,  the  boy  admitted 
that  the  sum  was  ten  dollars, — an  extraordinary 
amount  from  a  poor  man  for  so  simple  a  service,  if 
the  man  merely  wished  to  secure  his  reference  for 
future  use;  so  extraordinary  that  Mr.  Jones  grew 
more  and  more  pertinent  in  his  inquiries,  eliciting 
finally  what  he  surely  could  not  have  hoped  for  in 
210 


THE    MISSING   RECOMMENDATION 

the  beginning, — the  exact  address  of  the  party  re 
ferred  to  in  the  paper  he  had  stolen,  and  which,  for 
some  reason,  the  boy  remembered.  It  was  an  up 
town  address,  and,  as  soon  as  the  caterer  could  leave 
his  business,  he  took  the  elevated  and  proceeded  to 
the  specified  street  and  number. 

"Miss  Van  Arsdale,  a  surprise  awaited  him,  and 
awaited  us  when  he  told  the  result  of  his  search. 
The  name  attached  to  the  recommendation  had  been 
— 'Hiram  Sears,  Steward.'  He  did  not  know  of  any 
such  man — perhaps  you  do — but  when  he  reached 
the  house  from  which  the  recommendation  was 
dated,  he  saw  that  it  was  one  of  the  great  houses  of 
New  York,  though  he  could  not  at  the  instant  re 
member  who  lived  there.  But  he  soon  found  out. 
The  first  passer-by  told  him.  Miss  Van  Arsdale, 
perhaps  you  can  do  the  same.  The  number  wai 
Eighty-sixth  Street." 

" !"  I  repeated,  quite  aghast.  "Why,  Mr. 

Fairbrother  himself !  The  husband  of — " 

"Exactly  so,  and  Hiram  Sears,  whose  name  you 
may  have  heard  mentioned  at  the  inquest,  though 
211 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

for  a  very  good  reason  he  was  not  there  in  person, 
is  his  steward  and  general  factotum." 

"Oh !  and  it  was  he  who  recommended  Wellgood?" 

"Yes." 

"And  did  Mr.  Jones  see  him?" 

"No.  The  house,  you  remember,  is  closed.  Mr. 
Fairbrother,  on  leaving  town,  gave  his  servants  a 
vacation.  His  steward  he  took  with  him, — that  is, 
they  started  together.  But  we  hear  no  mention 
made  of  him  in  our  telegrams  from  Santa  Fe.  He 
does  not  seem  to  have  followed  Mr.  Fairbrother  into 
the  mountains." 

"You  say  that  in  a  peculiar  way,"  I  remarked. 

"Because  it  has  struck  us  peculiarly.  Where  is 
Sears  now?  And  why  did  he  not  go  on  with  Mr. 
Fairbrother  when  he  left  home  with  every  apparent 
intention  of  accompanying  him  to  the  Placide 
mine?  Miss  Van  Arsdale,  we  were  impressed  with 
this  fact  when  we  heard  of  Mr.  Fairbrother's  lonely 
trip  from  where  he  was  taken  ill  to  his  mine  outside 
of  Santa  Fe ;  but  we  have  only  given  it  its  due  im 
portance  since  hearing  what  has  come  to  us  to-day. 
212 


THE    MISSING    RECOMMENDATION 

"Miss  Van  Arsdale,"  continued  the  inspector,  as 
I  looked  up  quickly,  "I  am  going  to  show  great 
confidence  in  you.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  our 
men  have  learned  about  this  Sears.  As  I  have  said 
before,  it  is  but  forestalling  the  reporters  by  a  day, 
and  it  may  help  you  to  understand  why  I  sent  you 
such  peremptory  orders  to  stop,  when  your  whole 
heart  was  fixed  on  an  attempt  by  which  you  hoped 
to  right  Mr.  Durand.  We  can  not  afford  to  disturb 
so  distinguished  a  person  as  the  one  you  have  under 
your  eye,  while  the  least  hope  remains  of  fixing  this 
crime  elsewhere.  And  we  have  such  hope.  This  man, 
this  Sears,  is  by  no  means  the  simple  character  one 
would  expect  from  his  position.  Considering  the 
short  time  we  have  had  ( it  was  only  yesterday  that 
Jones  found  his  way  into  this  office),  we  have  un 
earthed  some  very  interesting  facts  in  his  regard. 
His  devotion  to  Mr.  Fairbrother  was  never  any  se 
cret,  and  we  knew  as  much  about  that  the  day  after 
the  murder  as  we  do  now.  But  the  feelings  with 
which  he  regarded  Mrs.  Fairbrother — well,  that  is 
another  thing — and  it  was  not  till  last  night  we 
213 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

heard  that  the  attachment  which  bound  him  to  her 
was  of  the  sort  which  takes  no  account  of  youth  or 
age,  fitness  or  unfitness.  He  was  no  Adonis,  and  old 
enough,  we  are  told,  to  be  her  father;  but  for  all 
that  we  have  already  found  several  persons  who  can 
tell  strange  stories  of  the  persistence  with  which 
his  eager  old  eyes  would  follow  her  whenever  chance 
threw  them  together  during  the  time  she  remained 
under  her  husband's  roof;  and  others  who  relate, 
with  even  more  avidity,  how,  after  her  removal  to 
apartments  of  her  own,  he  used  to  spend  hours  in 
the  adjoining  park  just  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her 
figure  as  she  crossed  the  sidewalk  on  her  way  to  and 
from  her  carriage.  Indeed,  his  senseless,  almost 
senile  passion  for  this  magnificent  beauty  became  a 
by-word  in  some  mouths,  and  it  only  escaped  being 
mentioned  at  the  inquest  from  respect  to  Mr.  Fair- 
brother,  who  had  never  recognized  this  weakness  in 
his  steward,  and  from  its  lack  of  visible  connection 
with  her  horrible  death  and  the  stealing  of  her 
great  jewel.  Nevertheless,  we  have  a  witness  now 
— it  is  astonishing  how  many  witnesses  we  can 


THE    MISSING   RECOMMENDATION 

scare  up  by  a  little  effort,  who  never  thought  of 
coming  forward  themselves — who  can  swear  to  hav 
ing  seen  him  one  night  shaking  his  fist  at  her  re 
treating  figure  as  she  stepped  haughtily  by  him 
into  her  apartment  house.  This  witness  is  sure  that 
the  man  he  saw  thus  gesticulating  was  Sears,  and 
he  is  sure  the  woman  was  Mrs.  Fairbrother.  The 
only  thing  he  is  not  sure  of  is  how  his  own  wife 
will  feel  when  she  hears  that  he  was  in  that  par 
ticular  neighborhood  on  that  particular  evening, 
when  he  was  evidently  supposed  to  be  somewhere 
else."  And  the  inspector  laughed. 

"Is  the  steward's  disposition  a  bad  one,"  I  asked, 
"that  this  display  of  feeling  should  impress  you  so 
much?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  that  yet.  Opin 
ions  differ  on  this  point.  His  friends  speak  of  him 
as  the  mildest  kind  of  a  man  who,  without  native 
executive  skill,  could  not  manage  the  great  house 
hold  he  has  in  charge.  His  enemies,  and  we  have 
unearthed  a  few,  say,  on  the  contrary,  that  they 
have  never  had  any  confidence  in  his  quiet  ways ; 
215 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that  these  were  not  in  keeping  with  the  fact  of  his 
having  been  a  California  miner  in  the  early  fifties. 

"You  can  see  I  am  putting  you  very  nearly  where 
we  are  ourselves.  Nor  do  I  see  why  I  should  not  add 
that  this  passion  of  the  seemingly  subdued  but 
really  hot-headed  steward  for  a  woman,  who  never 
showed  him  anything  but  what  he  might  call  an  in 
sulting  indifference,  struck  us  as  a*  clue  to  be  worked 
up,  especially  after  we  received  this  answer  to  a 
telegram  we  sent  late  last  night  to  the  nurse  who 
is  caring  for  Mr.  Fairbrother  in  New  Mexico." 

He  handed  me  a  small  yellow  slip  and  I  read : 

"The  steward  left  Mr.  Fairbrother  at  El  Moro. 
He  has  not  heard  from  him  since. 

"ANNETTA  LA  SERRA 

"For  Abner  Fairbrother." 

"At  El  Moro?"  I  cried.  "Why,  that  was  long 
enough  ago — " 

"For  him  to  have  reached  New  York  before  the 
murder.  Exactly  so,  if  he  took  advantage  of  every 
close  connection." 

216 


XIV 

TRAPPED 

I  caught  my  breath  sharply.  I  did  not  say  any 
thing.  I  felt  that  I  did  not  understand  the  inspector 
sufficiently  yet  to  speak.  He  seemed  to  be  pleased 
with  my  reticence.  At  all  events,  his  manner  grew 
even  kinder  as  he  said : 

"This  Sears  is  a  witness  we  must  have.  He  is 
being  looked  for  now,  high  and  low,  and  we  hope 
to  get  some  clue  to  his  whereabouts  before  night. 
That  is,  if  he  is  in  this  city.  Meanwhile,  we  are  all 
glad — I  am  sure  you  are  also — to  spare  so  distin 
guished  a  gentleman  as  Mr.  Grey  the  slightest  an 
noyance." 

"And  Mr.  Durand?  What  of  him  in  this  in 
terim?" 

"He  will  have  to  await  developments.  I  see  no 
other  way,  my  dear." 

217 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

It  was  kindly  said,  but  my  head  drooped.  This 
waiting  was  what  was  killing  him  and  killing  me. 
The  inspector  saw  and  gently  patted  my  hand. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "you  have  head  enough  to  see 
that  it  is  never  wise  to  force  matters."  Then,  pos 
sibly  with  an  intention  of  rousing  me,  he  remarked : 
"There  is  another  small  fact  which  may  interest 
you.  It  concerns  the  waiter,  Wellgood,  recom 
mended,  as  you  will  remember,  by  this  Sears.  In 
my  talk  with  Jones  it  leaked  out  as  a  matter  of 
small  moment,  and  so  it  was  to  him,  that  this  Well- 
good  was  the  waiter  who  ran  and  picked  up  the 
diamond  after  it  fell  from  Mr.  Grey's  hand." 

"Ah !" 

"This  may  mean  nothing — it  meant  nothing  to 
Jones — but  I  inform  you  of  it  because  there  is  a 
question  I  want  to  put  to  you  in  this  connection. 
You  smile." 

"Did  I?"  I  meekly  answered.  "I  do  not  know 
why." 

This  was  not  true.  I  had  been  waiting  to  see  why 
the  inspector  had  so  honored  me  with  all  these  dis- 
218 


TRAPPED 

closures,  almost  with  his  thoughts.    Now  I  saw. 

He  desired  something  in  return. 

i 
"You  were  on  the  scene  at  this  very  moment,"  he 

proceeded,  after  a  brief  contemplation  of  my  face, 
"and  you  must  have  seen  this  man  when  he  lifted 
the  jewel  and  handed  it  back  to  Mr.  Grey.  Did  you 
remark  his  features  ?" 

"No,  sir ;  I  was  too  far  off ;  besides,  my  eyes  were 
on  Mr.  Grey." 

"That  is  a  pity.  I  was  in  hopes  you  could  satisfy 
me  on  a  very  important  point." 

"What  point  is  that,  Inspector  Dalzell?" 

"Whether  he  answered  the  following  descrip 
tion."  And,  taking  up  another  paper,  he  was  about 
to  read  it  aloud  to  me,  when  an  interruption  oc 
curred.  A  man  showed  himself  at  the  door,  whom 
the  inspector  no  sooner  recognized  than  he  seemed 
to  forget  me  in  his  eagerness  to  interrogate  him. 
Perhaps  the  appearance  of  the  latter  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  it;  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been 
running,  or  had  been  the  victim  of  some  extraor 
dinary  adventure.  At  all  events,  the  inspector  arose 
219 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

as  he  entered,  and  was  about  to  question  him  when 
he  remembered  me,  and,  casting  about  for  some 
means  of  ridding  himself  of  my  presence  without 
injury  to  my  feelings,  he  suddenly  pushed  open  the 
door  of  an  adjoining  room  and  requested  me  to  step 
inside  while  he  talked  a  moment  with  this  man. 

Of  course  I  went,  but  I  cast  him  an  appealing 
look  as  I  did  so.  It  evidently  had  its  effect,  for  his 
expression  changed  as  his  hand  fell  on  the  door 
knob.  Would  he  snap  the  lock  tight,  and  so  shut 
me  out  from  what  concerned  me  as  much  as  it  did 
any  one  in  the  whole  world?  Or  would  he  recognize 
my  anxiety — the  necessity  I  was  under  of  knowing 
just  the  ground  I  was  standing  on — and  let  me 
hear  what  this  man  had  to  report  ? 

I  watched  the  door.  It  closed  slowly,  too  slowly 
to  latch.  Would  he  catch  it  anew  by  the  knob? 
No ;  he  left  it  thus,  and,  while  the  crack  was  hardly 
perceptible,  I  felt  confident  that  the  least  shake  of 
the  floor  would  widen  it  and  give  me  the  oppor 
tunity  I  sought.  But  I  did  not  have  to  wait  for 
this.  The  two  men  in  the  office  I  had  just  left  began 
220 


TRAPPED 

to  speak,  and  to  my  unbounded  relief  were  suffi 
ciently  intelligible,  even  now,  to  warrant  me  in  giv 
ing  them  my  fullest  attention. 

After  some  expressions  of  astonishment  on  the 
part  of  the  inspector  as  to  the  plight  in  which  the 
other  presented  himself,  the  latter  broke  out : 

"I've  just  escaped  death !  I'll  tell  you  about  that 
later.  What  I  want  to  tell  you  now  is  that  the  man 
we  want  is  in  town.  I  saw  him  last  night,  or  his 
shadow,  which  is  the  same  thing.  It  was  in  the 
house  in  Eighty-sixth  Street, — the  house  they  all 
think  closed.  He  came  in  with  a  key  and — " 

"Wait!  You  have  him?" 

"No.  It's  a  long  story,  sir — " 

"Tell  it!" 

The  tone  was  dry.  The  inspector  was  evidently 
disappointed. 

"Don't  blame  me  till  you  hear,"  said  the  other. 
"He  is  no  common  crook.  This  is  how  it  was :  You 
wanted  the  suspect's  photograph  and  a  specimen  of 
his  writing.  I  knew  no  better  place  to  look  for  them 
than  in  his  own  room  in  Mr.  Fail-brother's  house. 
221 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

I  accordingly  got  the  necessary  warrant  and  late 
last  evening  undertook  the  job.  I  went  alone — I  was 
always  an  egotistical  chap,  more's  the  pity — and 
with  no  further  precaution  than  a  passing  explana 
tion  to  the  officer  I  met  at  the  corner,  I  hastened  up 
the  block  to  the  rear  entrance  on  Eighty-seventh 
Street.  There  are  three  doors  to  the  Fairbrother 
house,  as  you  probably  know.  Two  on  Eighty-sixth 
Street  (the  large  front  one  and  a  small  one  connect 
ing  directly  with  the  turret  stairs),  and  one  on 
Eighty-seventh  Street.  It  was  to  the  latter  I  had  a 
key.  I  do  not  think  any  one  saw  me  go  in.  It  was 
raining,  and  such  people  as  went  by  were  more  con 
cerned  in  keeping  their  umbrellas  properly  over 
their  heads  than  in  watching  men  skulking  about  in 
doorways. 

"I  got  in,  then,  all  right,  and,  being  careful  to 
close  the  door  behind  me,  went  up  the  first  short 
flight  of  steps  to  what  I  knew  must  be  the  main 
hall.  I  had  been  given  a  plan  of  the  interior,  and  I 
had  studied  it  more  or  less  before  starting  out,  but  I 
knew  that  I  should  get  lost  if  I  did  not  keep  to  the 


TRAPPED 

rear  staircase,  at  the  top  of  which  I  expected  to 
find  the  steward's  room.  There  was  a  faint  light  in 
the  house,  in  spite  of  its  closed  shutters  and  tightly- 
drawn  shades ;  and,  having  a  certain  dread  of  using 
my  torch,  knowing  my  weakness  for  pretty  things 
and  how  hard  it  would  be  for  me  to  pass  so  many 
fine  rooms  without  looking  in,  I  made  my  way  up 
stairs,  with  no  other  guide  than  the  hand-rail. 
When  I  had  reached  what  I  took  to  be  the  third 
floor  I  stopped.  Finding  it  very  dark,  I  first  listened 
— a  natural  instinct  with  us — then  I  lit  up  and 
looked  about  me. 

"I  was  in  a  large  hall,  empty  as  a  vault  and  al 
most  as  desolate.  Blank  doors  met  my  eyes  in  all 
directions,  with  here  and  there  an  open  passageway. 
I  felt  myself  in  a  maze.  I  had  no  idea  which  was 
the  door  I  sought,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  to  turn 
unaccustomed  knobs  in  a  shut-up  house  at  mid 
night,  with  the  rain  pouring  in  torrents  and  the 
wind  making  pandemonium  in  a  half-dozen  great 
chimneys. 

"But  it  had  to  be  done,  and  I  went  at  it  in  regu- 
223 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

lar  order  till  I  came  to  a  little  narrow  one  opening 
on  the  turret-stair.  This  gave  me  my  bearings. 
Sears'  room  adjoined  the  staircase.  There  was  no 
difficulty  in  spotting  the  exact  door  now  and, 
merely  stopping  to  close  the  opening  I  had  made  to 
this  little  staircase,  I  crossed  to  this  door  and  flung 
it  open.  I  had  been  right  in  my  calculations.  It 
was  the  steward's  room,  and  I  made  at  once  for  the 
desk." 

"And  you  found—?" 

"Mostly  locked  drawers.  But  a  key  on  my  bunch 
opened  some  of  these  and  my  knife  the  rest.  Here 
are  the  specimens  of  his  handwriting  which  I  col 
lected.  I  doubt  if  you  will  get  much  out  of  them. 
I  saw  nothing  compromising  in  the  whole  room,  but 
then  I  hadn't  time  to  go  through  his  trunks,  and 
one  of  them  looked  very  interesting, — old  as  the 
hills  and — " 

"You  hadn't  time?  Why  hadn't  you  time?  What 
happened  to  cut  it  short  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  I'll  tell  you."  The  tone  in  which  this 
was  said  roused  me  if  it  did  not  the  inspector.  "I 


TRAPPED 

had  just  come  from  the  desk  which  had  disap 
pointed  me,  and  was  casting  a  look  about  the  room, 
which  was  as  bare  as  my  hand  of  everything  like 
ornament — I  might  almost  say  comfort — when  I 
heard  a  noise  which  was  not  that  of  swishing  rain 
or  even  gusty  wind — these  had  not  been  absent  from 
my  ears  for  a  moment.  I  didn't  like  that  noise;  it 
had  a  sneakish  sound,  and  I  shut  my  light  off  in  a 
hurry.  After  that  I  crept  hastily  out  of  the  room, 
for  I  don't  like  a  set-to  in  a  trap. 

"It  was  darker  than  ever  now  in  the  hall,  or  so  it 
seemed,  and  as  I  backed  away  I  came  upon  a  jog  in 
the  wall,  behind  which  I  crept.  For  the  sound  I 
had  heard  was  no  fancy.  Some  one  besides  myself 
was  in  the  house,  and  that  some  one  was  coming  up 
the  little  turret-stair,  striking  matches  as  he  ap 
proached.  Who  could  it  be?  A  detective  from  the 
district  attorney's  office?  I  hardly  thought  so.  He 
would  have  been  provided  with  something  better 
than  matches  to  light  his  way.  A  burglar  ?  No,  not 
on  the  third  floor  of  a  house  as  rich  as  this.  Some 
fellow  on  the  force,  then,  who  had  seen  me  come  in 
225 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

and,  by  some  trick  of  his  own,  had  managed  to 
follow  me?  I  would  see.  Meantime  I  kept  my  place 
behind  the  jog  and  watched,  not  knowing  which 
way  the  intruder  would  go. 

"Whoever  he  was,  he  was  evidently  astonished  to 
see  the  turret  door  ajar,  for  he  lit  another  match  as 
he  threw  it  open  and,  though  I  failed  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  his  figure,  I  succeeded  in  getting  a  very 
good  one  of  his  shadow.  It  was  one  to  arouse  a  de 
tective's  instinct  at  once.  I  did  not  say  to  myself, 
this  is  the  man  I  want,  but  I  did  say,  this  is  nobody 
from  headquarters,  and  I  steadied  myself  for  what 
ever  might  turn  up. 

"The  first  thing  that  happened  was  the  sudden 
going  out  of  the  match  which  had  made  this  shadow 
visible.  The  intruder  did  not  light  another.  I 
heard  him  move  across  the  floor  with  the  rapid  step 
of  one  who  knows  his  way  well,  and  the  next  minute 
a  gas-jet  flared  up  in  the  steward's  room,  and  I 
knew  that  the  man  the  whole  force  was  looking  for 
had  trapped  himself. 

"You  will  agree  that  it  was  not  my  duty  to  take 
226 


TRAPPED 

him  then  and  there  without  seeing  what  he  was 
after.  He  was  thought  to  be  in  the  eastern  states, 
or  south  or  west,  and  he  was  here;  but  why  here? 
That  is  what  I  knew  you  would  want  to  know,  and 
it  was  just  what  I  wanted  to  know  myself.  So  I 
kept  my  place,  which  was  good  enough,  and  just 
listened,  for  I  could  not  see. 

"What  was  his  errand  ?  What  did  he  want  in  this 
empty  house  at  midnight?  Papers  first,  and  then 
clothes.  I  heard  him  at  his  desk,  I  heard  him  in 
the  closet,  and  afterward  pottering  in  the  old  trunk 
I  had  been  so  anxious  to  look  into  myself.  He  must 
have  brought  the  key  with  him,  for  it  was  no  time 
before  I  heard  him  throwing  out  the  contents  in  a 
wild  search  for  something  he  wanted  in  a  great 
hurry.  He  found  it  sooner  than  you  would  believe, 
and  began  throwing  the  things  back,  when  some 
thing  happened.  Expectedly  or  unexpectedly,  his 
eye  fell  on  some  object  which  roused  all  his  pas 
sions,  and  he  broke  into  loud  exclamations  ending 
in  groans.  Finally  he  fell  to  kissing  this  object 
with  a  fervor  suggesting  rage,  and  a  rage  suggest- 
227 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

ing  tenderness  carried  to  the  point  of  agony.  I  have 
never  heard  the  like;  my  curiosity  was  so  aroused 
that  I  was  on  the  point  of  risking  everything  for  a 
look,  when  he  gave  a  sudden  snarl  and  cried  out, 
loud  enough  for  me  to  hear :  'Kiss  what  I've  hated? 
That  is  as  bad  as  to  kill  what  Tve  loved.9  Those 
were  the  words.  I  am  sure  he  said  Kiss  and  I  am 
sure  he  said  kill." 

"This  is  very  interesting.  Go  on  with  your  story. 
Why  didn't  you  collar  him  while  he  was  in  this 
mood?  You  would  have  won  by  the  surprise." 

"I  had  no  pistol,  sir,  and  he  had.  I  heard  him 
cock  it.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  take  his  own 
life,  and  held  my  breath  for  the  report.  But  noth 
ing  like  that  was  in  his  mind.  Instead,  he  laid  the 
pistol  down  and  deliberately  tore  in  two  the  object 
of  his  anger.  Then  with  a  smothered  curse  he  made 
for  the  door  and  turret  staircase. 

"I  was  for  following,  but  not  till  I  had  seen  what 
he  had  destroyed  in  such  an  excess  of  feeling.  I 
thought  I  knew,  but  I  wanted  to  feel  sure.  So,  be 
fore  risking  myself  in  the  turret,  I  crept  to  the 
228 


TRAPPED 

room  he  had  left  and  felt  about  on  the  floor  till  I 
came  upon  these." 

"A  torn  photograph !  Mrs.  Fairbrother's !" 

"Yes.  Have  you  not  heard  how  he  loved  her?  A 
foolish  passion,  but  evidently  sincere  and — " 

"Never  mind  comments,  Sweetwater.  Stick  to 
facts." 

"I  will,  sir.  They  are  interesting  enough.  After 
I  had  picked  up  these  scraps  I  stole  back  to  the 
turret  staircase.  And  here  I  made  my  first  break. 
I  stumbled  in  the  darkness,  and  the  man  below 
heard  me,  for  the  pistol  clicked  again.  I  did  not  like 
this,  and  had  some  thoughts  of  backing  out  of  my 
job.  But  I  didn't.  I  merely  waited  till  I  heard  his 
step  again ;  then  I  followed. 

"But  very  warily  this  time.  It  was  not  an  agree 
able  venture.  It  was  like  descending  into  a  well 
with  possible  death  at  the  bottom.  I  could  see  noth 
ing  and  presently  could  hear  nothing  but  the  almost 
imperceptible  sliding  of  my  own  fingers  down  the 
curve  of  the  wall,  which  was  all  I  had  to  guide  me. 
Had  he  stopped  midway,  and  would  my  first  inti- 
229 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

mation  of  his  presence  be  the  touch  of  cold  steel  01 
the  flinging  around  me  of  two  murderous  arms?  I 
had  met  with  no  break  in  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
wall,  so  could  not  have  reached  the  second  story. 
When  I  should  get  there  the  question  would  be 
whether  to  leave  the  staircase  and  seek  him  in  the 
mazes  of  its  great  rooms,  or  to  keep  on  down  to  the 
parlor  floor  and  so  to  the  street,  whither  he  was 
possibly  bound.  I  own  that  I  was  almost  tempted 
to  turn  on  my  light  and  have  done  with  it,  but  I 
remembered  of  how  little  use  I  should  be  to  you 
lying  in  this  well  of  a  stairway  with  a  bullet  in  me, 
and  so  I  managed  to  compose  myself  and  go  on  as 
I  had  begun.  Next  instant  my  fingers  slipped 
round  the  edge  of  an  opening,  and  I  knew  that  the 
moment  of  decision  had  come.  Realizing  that  no 
one  can  move  so  softly  that  he  will  not  give  away 
his  presence  in  some  way,  I  paused  for  the  sound 
which  I  knew  must  come,  and  when  a  click  rose 
from  the  depths  of  the  hall  before  me  I  plunged 
into  that  hall  and  thus  into  the  house  proper. 

"Here  it  was  not  so  dark;  yet  I  could  make  out 
230 


TRAPPED 

none  of  the  objects  I  now  and  then  ran  against. 
I  passed  a  mirror  (I  hardly  know  how  I  knew  it  to 
be  such),  and  in  that  mirror  I  seemed  to  see  the 
ghost  of  a  ghost  flit  by  and  vanish.  It  was  too 
much.  I  muttered  a  suppressed  oath  and  plunged 
forward,  when  I  struck  against  a  closing  door.  It 
flew  open  again  and  I  rushed  in,  turning  on  my 
light  in  my  extreme  desperation,  when,  instead  of 
hearing  the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol,  as  I  expected, 
I  saw  a  second  door  fall  to  before  me,  this  time  with 
a  sound  Like  the  snap  of  a  spring  lock.  Finding 
that  this  was  so,  and  that  all  advance  was  barred 
that  way,  I  wheeled  hurriedly  back  toward  the  door 
by  which  I  had  entered  the  place,  to  find  that  that 
had  fallen  to  simultaneously  with  the  other,  a  single 
spring  acting  for  both.  I  was  trapped — a  prisoner 
in  the  strangest  sort  of  passageway  or  closet ;  and, 
as  a  speedy  look  about  presently  assured  me,  a 
prisoner  with  very  little  hope  of  immediate  escape, 
for  the  doors  were  not  only  immovable,  without 
even  locks  to  pick  or  panels  to  break  in,  but  the 
place  was  bare  of  windows,  and  the  only  communi- 
231 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

cation  which  it  could  be  said  to  have  with  the  out 
side  world  at  all  was  a  shaft  rising  from  the  ceiling 
almost  to  the  top  of  the  house.  Whether  this  served 
as  a  ventilator,  or  a  means  of  lighting  up  the  hole 
when  both  doors  were  shut,  it  was  much  too  inac 
cessible  to  offer  any  apparent  way  of  escape. 

"Never  was  a  man  more  thoroughly  boxed  in. 
As  I  realized  how  little  chance  there  was  of  any  out 
side  interference,  how  my  captor,  even  if  he  was 
seen  leaving  the  house  by  the  officer  on  duty,  would 
be  taken  for  myself  and  so  allowed  to  escape,  I  own 
that  I  felt  my  position  a  hopeless  one.  But  anger  is 
a  powerful  stimulant,  and  I  was  mortally  angry, 
not  only  with  Sears,  but  with  myself.  So  when  I 
was  done  swearing  I  took  another  look  around,  and, 
finding  that  there  was  no  getting  through  the  walls, 
turned  my  attention  wholly  to  the  shaft,  which 
would  certainly  lead  me  out  of  the  place  if  I  could 
only  find  means  to  mount  it. 

"And  how  do  you  think  I  managed  to  do  this  at 
last  ?  A  look  at  my  bedraggled,  lime-covered  clothes 
may  give  you  some  idea.  I  cut  a  passage  for  my- 
232 


TRAPPED 

self  up  those  perpendicular  walls  as  the  boy  did  up 
the  face  of  the  natural  bridge  in  Virginia.  Do  you 
remember  that  old  story  in  the  Reader*  It  came  to 
me  like  an  inspiration  as  I  stood  looking  up  from 
below,  and  though  I  knew  that  I  should  have  to 
work  most  of  the  way  in  perfect  darkness,  I  de 
cided  that  a  man's  life  was  worth  some  risk,  and 
that  I  had  rather  fall  and  break  my  neck  while 
doing  something  than  to  spend  hours  in  maddening 
inactivity,  only  to  face  death  at  last  from  slow 
starvation. 

"I  had  a  knife,  an  exceedingly  good  knife,  in  my 
pocket — and  for  the  first  few  steps  I  should  have 
the  light  of  my  electric  torch.  The  difficulty  (that 
is,  the  first  difficulty)  was  to  reach  the  shaft  from 
the  floor  where  I  stood.  There  was  but  one  article  of 
furniture  in  the  room,  and  that  was  something  be 
tween  a  table  and  a  desk.  No  chairs,  and  the  desk 
was  not  high  enough  to  enable  me  to  reach  the 
mouth  of  the  shaft.  If  I  could  turn  it  on  end  there 
might  be  some  hope.  But  this  did  not  look  feasible. 
However,  I  threw  off  my  coat  and  went  at  the  thing 
233 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

with  a  vengeance,  and  whether  I  was  given  super 
human  power  or  whether  the  clumsy  thing  was  not 
as  heavy  as  it  looked,  I  did  finally  succeed  in  turning 
it  on  its  end  close  under  the  opening  from  which 
the  shaft  rose.  The  next  thing  was  to  get  on  its 
top.  That  seemed  about  as  impossible  as  climbing 
the  bare  wall  itself,  but  presently  I  bethought  me 
of  the  drawers,  and,  though  they  were  locked,  I  did 
succeed  by  the  aid  of  my  keys  to  get  enough  of 
them  open  to  make  for  myself  a  very  good  pair  of 
stairs. 

"I  could  now  see  my  way  to  the  mouth  of  the 
shaft,  but  after  that !  Taking  out  my  knife,  I  felt 
the  edge.  It  was  a  good  one,  so  was  the  point,  but 
was  it  good  enough  to  work  holes  in  plaster? 
It  depended  somewhat  upon  the  plaster.  Had  the 
masons,  in  finishing  that  shaft,  any  thought  of  the 
poor  wretch  who  one  day  would  have  to  pit  his  life 
against  the  hardness  of  the  final  covering?  My 
first  dig  at  it  would  tell.  I  own  I  trembled  violently 
at  the  prospect  of  what  that  first  test  would  mean 
to  me,  and  wondered  if  the  perspiration  which  I 
234 


TRAPPED 

felt  starting  at  every  pore  was  the  result  of  the 
effort  I  had  been  engaged  in  or  just  plain  fear. 

"Inspector,  I  do  not  intend  to  have  you  live  with 
me  through  the  five  mortal  hours  which  followed. 
I  was  enabled  to  pierce  that  plaster  with  my  knife, 
and  even  to  penetrate  deep  enough  to  afford  a 
place  for  the  tips  of  my  fingers  and  afterward  for 
the  point  of  my  toes,  digging,  prying,  sweating, 
panting,  listening,  first  for  a  sudden  opening  of  the 
doors  beneath,  then  for  some  shout  or  wicked  in 
terference  from  above  as  I  worked  my  way  up 
inch  by  inch,  foot  by  foot,  to  what  might  not  be 
safety  after  it  was  attained. 

"Five  hours — six.  Then  I  struck  something 
which  proved  to  be  a  window ;  and  when  I  realized 
this  and  knew  that  with  but  one  more  effort  I 
should  breathe  freely  again,  I  came  as  near  falling 
as  I  had  at  any  time  before  I  began  this  terrible 
climb. 

"Happily,  I  had  some  premonition  of  my  dan 
ger,  and  threw  myself  into  a  position  which  held 
me  till  the  dizzy  minute  passed.  Then  I  went 
235 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

calmly  on  with  my  work,  and  in  another  half -hour 
had  reached  the  window,  which,  fortunately  for  me, 
not  only  opened  inward,  but  was  off  the  latch.  It 
was  with  a  sense  of  inexpressible  relief  that  I  clam 
bered  through  this  window  and  for  a  brief  moment 
breathed  in  the  pungent  odor  of  cedar.  But  it  could 
have  been  only  for  a  moment.  It  was  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  before  I  found  myself  again  in  the 
outer  air.  The  only  way  I  can  account  for  the 
lapse  of  time  is  that  the  strain  to  which  both  body 
and  nerve  had  been  subjected  was  too  much  for  even 
my  hardy  body  and  that  I  fell  to  the  floor  of  the 
cedar  closet  and  from  a  faint  went  into  a  sleep  that 
lasted  until  two.  I  can  easily  account  for  the  last 
hour  because  it  took  me  that  long  to  cut  the  thick 
paneling  from  the  door  of  the  closet.  However,  I 
am  here  now,  sir,  and  in  very  much  the  same  condi 
tion  in  which  I  left  that  house.  I  thought  my  first 
duty  was  to  tell  you  that  I  had  seen  Hiram  Sears  in 
that  house  last  night  and  put  you  on  his  track." 

I  drew  a  long  breath, — I  think  the  inspector  did. 
I  had  been  almost  rigid  from  excitement,  and  I 


TRAPPED 

don't  believe  he  was  quite  free  from  it  either.  But 
his  voice  was  calmer  than  I  expected  when  he  finally 
said: 

"I'll  remember  this.  It  was  a  good  night's  work." 
Then  the  inspector  put  to  him  some  questions,  which 
seemed  to  fix  the  fact  that  Sears  had  left  the  house 
before  Sweetwater  did,  after  which  he  bade  him 
send  certain  men  to  him  and  then  go  and  fix  him 
self  up. 

I  believe  he  had  forgotten  me.  I  had  almost  for 
gotten  myself. 


XV 


SEARS    OK,    WEI/LGOOD 

Not  till  the  inspector  had  given  several  orders 
was  I  again  summoned  into  his  presence.  He  smiled 
as  our  eyes  met,  but  did  not  allude,  any  more  than 
I  did,  to  what  had  just  passed.  Nevertheless,  we 
understood  each  other. 

When  I  was  again  seated,  he  took  up  the  con 
versation  where  we  had  left  it. 

"The  description  I  was  just  about  to  read  to 
you,"  he  went  on ;  "will  you  listen  to  it  now  ?" 

"Gladly,"  said  I ;  "it  is  Wellgood's,  I  believe." 

He  did  not  answer  save  by  a  curious  glance  from 
under  his  brows,  but,  taking  the  paper  again  from 
his  desk,  went  on  reading : 

"A  man  of  fifty-five  looking  like  one  of  sixty. 

Medium  height,  insignificant  features,  head  bald 

save  for  a  ring  of  scanty  dark  hair.    No  beard,  a 

heavy  nose,  long  mouth  and  sleepy  half -shut  eyes 

238 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

capable  of  shooting  strange  glances.  Nothing  dis 
tinctive  in  face  or  figure  save  the  depth  of  his 
wrinkles  and  a  scarcely  observable  stoop  in  his 
right  shoulder.  Do  you  see  Wellgood  in  that?"  he 
suddenly  asked. 

"I  have  only  the  faintest  recollection  of  his  ap 
pearance,"  was  my  doubtful  reply.  "But  the  im 
pression  I  get  from  this  description  is  not  exactly 
the  one  I  received  of  that  waiter  in  the  momentary 
glimpse  I  got  of  him." 

"So  others  have  told  me  before,"  he  remarked, 
looking  very  disappointed.  "The  description  is  of 
Sears  given  me  by  a  man  who  knew  him  well,  and 
if  we  could  fit  the  description  of  the  one  to  that  of 
the  other,  we  should  have  it  easy.  But  the  few  per 
sons  who  have  seen  Wellgood  differ  greatly  in  their 
remembrance  of  his  features,  and  even  of  his  color 
ing.  It  is  astonishing  how  superficially  most  people 
see  a  man,  even  when  they  are  thrown  into  daily 
contact  with  him.  Mr.  Jones  says  the  man's  eyes 
are  gray,  his  hair  a  wig  and  dark,  his  nose  pudgy, 
and  his  face  without  much  expression.  His  land- 
239 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

lady,  that  his  eyes  are  blue,  his  hair,  whether  wig 
or  not,  a  dusty  auburn,  and  his  look  quick  and 
piercing, — a  look  which  always  made  her  afraid. 
His  nose  she  don't  remember.  Both  agree,  or  ratheE 
all  agree,  that  he  wore  no  beard — Sears  did,  but  a 
beard  can  be  easily  taken  off — and  all  of  them  de 
clare  that  they  would  know  him  instantly  if  they 
saw  him.  And  so  the  matter  stands.  Even  you  can 
give  me  no  definite  description, — one,  I  mean,  as 
satisfactory  or  unsatisfactory  as  this  of  Sears." 

I  shook  my  head.  Like  the  others,  I  felt  that  I 
should  know  him  if  I  saw  him,  but  I  could  go  no 
further  than  that.  There  seemed  to  be  so  little  that 
was  distinctive  about  the  man. 

The  inspector,  hoping,  perhaps,  that  all  this 
would  serve  to  rouse  my  memory,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  put  the  best  face  he  could  on  the 
matter. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  "we  shall  have  to  be  pa 
tient.  A  day  may  make  all  the  difference  possible 
in  our  outlook.  If  we  can  lay  hands  on  either  of 
these  men — " 

240 


SEARS   OR   WELLGOOD 

He  seemed  to  realize  he  had  said  a  word  too 
much,  for  he  instantly  changed  the  subject  by  ask 
ing  if  I  had  succeeded  in  getting  a  sample  of  Miss 
Grey's  writing.  I  was  forced  to  say  no ;  that  every 
thing  had  been  very  carefully  put  away.  "But  I  do 
not  know  what  moment  I  may  come  upon  it,"  I 
added.  "I  do  not  forget  its  importance  in  this  in 
vestigation." 

"Very  good.  Those  lines  handed  up  to  Mrs. 
Fairbrother  from  the  walk  outside  are  the  second 
most  valuable  clue  we  possess." 

I  did  not  ask  him  what  the  first  was.  I  knew.  It 
was  the  stiletto. 

"Strange  that  no  one  has  testified  to  that  hand 
writing,"  I  remarked. 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"Fifty  persons  have  sent  in  samples  of  writing 
which  they  think  like  it,"  he  observed.  "Often  of 
persons  who  never  heard  of  the  Fairbrothers.  We 
have  been  bothered  greatly  with  the  business.  You 
know  little  of  the  difficulties  the  police  labor  under." 

"I  know  too  much,"  I  sighed. 
241 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

He  smiled  and  patted  me  on  the  hand. 

"Go  back  to  your  patient,"  he  said.  "Forget 
every  other  duty  but  that  of  your  calling  until  you 
get  some  definite  word  from  me.  I  shall  not  keep 
you  in  suspense  one  minute  longer  than  is  absolutely 
necessary." 

He  had  risen.  I  rose  too.  But  I  was  not  satis 
fied.  I  could  not  leave  the  room  with  my  ideas  (I 
might  say  with  my  convictions)  in  such  a  turmoil. 

"Inspector,"  said  I,  "you  will  think  me  very  ob 
stinate,  but  all  you  have  told  me  about  Sears,  all  I 
have  heard  about  him,  in  fact," — this  I  empha 
sized, — "does  not  convince  me  of  the  entire  folly  of 
my  own  suspicions.  Indeed,  I  am  afraid  that,  if 
anything,  they  are  strengthened.  This  steward, 
who  is  a  doubtful  character,  I  acknowledge,  may 
have  had  his  reasons  for  wishing  Mrs.  Fairbrother's 
death,  may  even  have  had  a  hand  in  the  matter; 
but  what  evidence  have  you  to  show  that  he,  him 
self,  entered  the  alcove,  struck  the  blow  or  stole  the 
diamond?  I  have  listened  eagerly  for  some  such 
evidence,  but  I  have  listened  in  vain." 
242 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

"I  know,"  he  murmured,  "I  know.  But  it  will 
come ;  at  least  I  think  so." 

This  should  have  reassured  me,  no  doubt,  and 
sent  me  away  quiet  and  happy.  But  something — 
the  tenacity  of  a  deep  conviction,  possibly — kept 
me  lingering  before  the  inspector  and  finally  gave 
me  the  courage  to  say : 

"I  know  I  ought  not  to  speak  another  word ;  that 
I  am  putting  myself  at  a  disadvantage  in  doing  so ; 
but  I  can  not  help  it,  Inspector;  I  can  not  help  it 
when  I  see  you  laying  such  stress  upon  the  few  in 
direct  clues  connecting  the  suspicious  Sears  with 
this  crime,  and  ignoring  the  direct  clues  we  have 
against  one  whom  we  need  not  name." 

Had  I  gone  too  far?  Had  my  presumption 
transgressed  all  bounds  and  would  he  show  a  very 
natural  anger?  No,  he  smiled  instead,  an  enigmati 
cal  smile,  no  doubt,  which  I  found  it  difficult  to  un 
derstand,  but  yet  a  smile. 

"You  mean,"  he  suggested,  "that  Sears'  possible 
connection  with  the  crime  can  not  eliminate  Mr. 
Grey's  very  positive  one ;  nor  can  the  fact  that  Well- 
243 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

good's  hand  came  in  contact  with  Mr.  Grey's,  at  or 
near  the  time  of  the  exchange  of  the  false  stone 
with  the  real,  make  it  any  less  evident  who  was  the 
guilty  author  of  this  exchange?" 

The  inspector's  hand  was  on  the  door-knob,  but 
he  dropped  it  at  this,  and  surveying  me  very  quietly 
said: 

"I  thought  that  a  few  days  spent  at  the  bedside 
of  Miss  Grey  in  the  society  of  so  renowned  and  cul 
tured  a  gentleman  as  her  father  would  disabuse  you 
of  these  damaging  suspicions." 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  thought  so,"  I  burst 
out.  "You  would  think  so  all  the  more,  if  you  knew 
how  kind  he  can  be  and  what  solicitude  he  shows  for 
all  about  him.  But  I  can  not  get  over  the  facts. 
They  all  point,  it  seems  to  me,  straight  in  one  di 
rection." 

"All?  You  heard  what  was  said  in  this  room — I 
saw  it  in  your  eye — how  the  man,  who  surprised  the 
steward  in  his  own  room  tast  night,  heard  him  talk 
ing  of  love  and  death  in  connection  with  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother.  'To  kiss  what  I  hate !  It  is  almost  as  bad 
244 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

as  to  kill  what  I  love' — he  said  something  like 
that." 

"Yes,  I  heard  that.  But  did  he  mean  that  he  had 
been  her  actual  slayer?  Could  you  convict  him  on 
those  words?" 

"Well,  we  shall  find  out.  Then,  as  to  Wellgood's 
part  in  the  little  business,  you  choose  to  consider 
that  it  took  place  at  the  time  the  stone  fell  from 
Mr.  Grey's  hand.  What  proof  have  you  that  the 
substitution  you  believe  in  was  not  made  by  him? 
He  could  easily  have  done  it  while  crossing  the 
room  to  Mr.  Grey's  side." 

"Inspector !"  Then  hotly,  as  the  absurdity  of  the 
suggestion  struck  me  with  full  force :  "H e  do  this ! 
A  waiter,  or  as  you  think,  Mr.  Fairbrother's  stew 
ard,  to  be  provided  with  so  hard-to-come-by  an  ar 
ticle  as  this  counterpart  of  a  great  stone  ?  Isn't  that 
almost  as  incredible  a  supposition  as  any  I  have 
myself  presumed  to  advance?" 

"Possibly,  but  the  affair  is  full  of  incredibilities, 
the  greatest  of  which,  to  my  mind,  is  the  persist 
ence  with  which  you,  a  kind-hearted  enough  little 
245 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

woman,  persevere  in  ascribing  the  deepest  guilt  to 
one  you  profess  to  admire  and  certainly  would  be 
glad  to  find  innocent  of  any  complicity  with  a  great 
crime." 

I  felt  that  I  must  justify  myself. 

"Mr.  Durand  has  had  no  such  consideration 
shown  him,"  said  I. 

"I  know,  my  child,  I  know ;  but  the  cases  differ. 
Wouldn't  it  be  well  for  you  to  see  this  and  be  satis 
fied  with  the  turn  which  things  have  taken,  without 
continuing  to  insist  upon  involving  Mr.  Grey  in 
your  suspicions?" 

A  smile  took  off  the  edge  of  this  rebuke,  yet  I 
felt  it  keenly ;  and  only  the  confidence  I  had  in  his 
fairness  as  a  man  and  public  official  enabled  me  to 
say: 

"But  I  am  talking  quite  confidentially.  And  you 
have  been  so  good  to  me,  so  willing  to  listen  to  all 
I  had  to  say,  that  I  can  not  help  but  speak  my 
whole  mind.  It  is  my  only  safety  valve.  Remember 
how  I  have  to  sit  in  the  presence  of  this  man  with 
my  thoughts  all  choked  up.  It  is  killing  me.  But 
246 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

I  think  I  should  go  back  content  if  you  will  listen 
to  one  more  suggestion  I  have  to  make.  It  is  my 
last." 

"Say  it.  I  am  nothing  if  not  indulgent." 
He  had  spoken  the  word.  Indulgent,  that  was  it. 
He  let  me  speak,  probably  had  let  me  speak  from 
the  first,  from  pure  kindness.  He  did  not  believe 
one  little  bit  in  my  good  sense  or  logic.  But  I  was 
not  to  be  deterred.  I  would  empty  my  mind  of  the 
ugly  thing  that  lay  there.  I  would  leave  there  no 
miserable  dregs  of  doubt  to  ferment  and  work  their 
evil  way  with  me  in  the  dead  watches  of  the  night, 
which  I  had  yet  to  face.  So  I  took  him  at  his  word. 
"I  only  want  to  ask  this.  In  case  Sears  is  inno 
cent  of  the  crime,  who  wrote  the  warning  and  where 
did  the  assassin  get  the  stiletto  with  the  Grey  arms 
chased  into  its  handle?  And  the  diamond?  Still  the 
diamond!  You  hint  that  he  stole  that,  too.  That 
with  some  idea  of  its  proving  useful  to  him  on  this 
gala  occasion,  he  had  provided  himself  with  an  imi 
tation  stone,  setting  and  all, — he  who  has  never 
shown,  so  far  as  we  have  heard,  any  interest  in  Mrs. 
247 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

Fail-brother's  diamond,  only  in  Mrs.  Fairbrother 
herself.  If  Wellgood  is  Sears  and  Sears  the  medium 
by  which  the  false  stone  was  exchanged  for  the  real, 
then  he  made  this  exchange  in  Mr.  Grey's  interests 
and  not  his  own.  But  I  don't  believe  he  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  it.  I  think  everything  goes  to  show 
that  the  exchange  was  made  by  Mr.  Grey  himself." 

"A  second  Daniel,"  muttered  the  inspector  light 
ly.  "Goon,  little  lawyer!"  But  for  all  this  attempt 
at  banter  on  his  part,  I  imagined  that  I  saw  the  be 
ginning  of  a  very  natural  anxiety  to  close  the  con 
versation.  I  therefore  hastened  with  what  I  had  yet 
to  say,  cutting  my  words  short  and  almost  stam 
mering  in  my  eagerness. 

"Remember  the  perfection  of  that  imitation 
stone,  a  copy  so  exact  that  it  extends  to  the  setting. 
That  shows  plan — forgive  me  if  I  repeat  myself — 
preparation,  a  knowledge  of  stones,  a  particular 
knowledge  of  this  one.  Mr.  Fairbrother's  steward 
may  have  had  the  knowledge,  but  he  would  have 
been  a  fool  to  have  used  his  knowledge  to  secure  for 
himself  a  valuable  he  could  never  have  found  a  pur- 
248 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

chaser  for  in  any  market.  But  a  fancier — one  who 
has  His  pleasure  in  the  mere  possession  of  a  unique 
and  invaluable  gem — ah!  that  is  different!  He 
might  risk  a  crime — history  tells  us  of  several." 

Here  I  paused  to  take  breath,  which  gave  the 
inspector  chance  to  say : 

"In  other  words,  this  is  what  you  think.  The 
Englishman,  desirous  of  covering  up  his  tracks, 
conceived  the  idea  of  having  this  imitation  on  hand, 
in  case  it  might  be  of  use  in  the  daring  and  dis 
graceful  undertaking  you  ascribe  to  him.  Recog 
nizing  his  own  inability  to  do  this  himself,  he  dele 
gated  the  task  to  one  who  in  some  way,  he  had  been 
led  to  think,  cherished  a  secret  grudge  against  its 
present  possessor — a  man  who  had  had  some  oppor 
tunity  for  seeing  the  stone  and  studying  the  set 
ting.  The  copy  thus  procured,  Mr.  Grey  went  to 
the  ball,  and,  relying  on  his  own  seemingly  unas 
sailable  position,  attacked  Mrs.  Fairbrother  in  the 
alcove  and  would  have  carried  off  the  diamond,  if 
he  had  found  it  where  he  had  seen  it  earlier  blazing 
on  her  breast.  But  it  was  not  thore.  The  warning 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

received  by  her — a  warning  you  ascribe  to  his 
daughter,  a  fact  which  is  yet  to  be  proved — had  led 
her  to  rid  herself  of  the  jewel  in  the  way  Mr.  Du- 
rand  describes,  and  he  found  himself  burdened  with 
a  dastardly  crime  and  with  nothing  to  show  for  it. 
Later,  however,  to  his  intense  surprise  and  possible 
satisfaction,  he  saw  that  diamond  in  my  hands,  and, 
recognizing  an  opportunity,  as  he  thought,  of  yet 
securing  it,  he  asked  to  see  it,  held  it  for  an  instant, 
and  then,  making  use  of  an  almost  incredible  ex 
pedient  for  distracting  attention,  dropped,  not  the 
real  stone  but  the  false  one,  retaining  the  real  one 
in  his  hand.  This,  in  plain  English,  as  I  take  it, 
is  your  present  idea  of  the  situation." 

Astonished  at  the  clearness  with  which  he  read 
my  mind,  I  answered:  "Yes,  Inspector,  that  is 
what  was  in  my  mind." 

"Good!  then  it  is  just  as  well  that  it  is  out. 
Your  mind  is  now  free  and  you  can  give  it  entirely 
to  your  duties."  Then,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
door-knob,  he  added :  "In  studying  so  intently  your 
own  point  of  view,  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  that 
250 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

the  last  thing  which  Mr.  Grey  would  be  likely  to  cU, 
under  those  circumstances,  would  be  to  call  atten 
tion  to  the  falsity  of  the  gem  upon  whose  similarity 
to  the  real  stone  he  was  depending.  Not  even  his 
confidence  in  his  own  position,  as  an  honored  and 
highly-esteemed  guest,  would  lead  him  to  do  that." 

"Not  if  he  were  a  well-known  connoisseur,"  I  fal 
tered,  "with  the  pride  of  one  who  has  handled  the 
best  gems?  He  would  know  that  the  deception 
would  be  soon  discovered  and  that  it  would  not  do 
for  him  to  fail  to  recognize  it  for  what  it  was,  when 
the  make-believe  was  in  his  hands." 

"Forced,  my  dear  child,  forced;  and  as  chimeri 
cal  as  all  the  rest.  It  can  not  stand  putting  into 
words.  I  will  go  further, — you  are  a  good  girl  and 
can  bear  to  hear  the  truth  from  me.  I  don't  be 
lieve  in  your  theory ;  I  can't.  I  have  not  been  able 
to  from  the  first,  nor  have  any  of  my  men ;  but  if 
your  ideas  are  true  and  Mr.  Grey  is  involved  in  this 
matter,  you  will  find  that  there  has  been  more  of  a 
hitch  about  that  diamond  than  you,  in  your  sim 
plicity,  believe.  If  Mr.  Grey  were  in  actual  posses- 
251 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE1 

sion  of  this  valuable,  he  would  show  less  care  than 
you  say  he  does.  So  would  he  if  it  were  in  Well- 
good's  hands  with  his  consent  and  a  good  prospect 
of  its  coming  to  him  in  the  near  future.  But  if  it 
is  in  Wellgood's  hands  without  his  consent,  or  any 
near  prospect  of  his  regaining  it,  then  we  can  easily 
understand  his  present  apprehensions  and  the  grow 
ing  uneasiness  he  betrays." 

"True,"  I  murmured. 

"If,  then,"  the  inspector  pursued,  giving  me  a 
parting  glance  not  without  its  humor,  probably  not 
without  something  really  serious  underlying  its  hu 
mor,  "we  should  find,  in  following  up  our  present 
clue,  that  Mr.  Grey  has  had  dealings  with  this 
Wellgood  or  this  Sears ;  or  if  you,  with  your  advan 
tages  for  learning  the  fact,  should  discover  that  he 
shows  any  extraordinary  interest  in  either  of  them, 
the  matter  will  take  on  a  different  aspect.  But  we 
have  not  got  that  far  yet.  At  present  our  task  is  to 
find  one  or  the  other  of  these  men.  If  we  are  lucky, 
we  shall  discover  that  the  waiter  and  the  steward  are 
identical,  in  spite  of  their  seemingly  different  ap- 
252 


SEARS    OR    WELLGOOD 

pearance.  A  rogue,  such  as  this  Sears  has  shown 
himself  to  be,  would  be  an  adept  at  disguise." 

"You  are  right,"  I  acknowledged.  "He  has  cer 
tainly  the  heart  of  a  criminal.  If  he  had  no  hand 
in  Mrs.  Fairbrother's  murder,  he  came  near  having 
one  in  that  of  your  detective.  You  know  what  I 
mean.  I  could  not  help  hearing,  Inspector." 

He  smiled,  looked  me  steadfastly  in  the  face  for 
a  moment,  and  then  bowed  me  out. 

The  inspector  told  me  afterward  that,  in  spite  of 
the  cavalier  manner  with  which  he  had  treated  my 
suggestions,  he  spent  a  very  serious  half -hour,  head 
to  head  with  the  district  attorney.  The  result  was 
the  following  order  to  Sweetwater,  the  detective. 

"You  are  to  go  to  the  St.  Regis ;  make  yourself 
solid  there,  and  gradually,  as  you  can  manage  it, 
work  yourself  into  a  position  for  knowing  all  that 

goes  on  in  Room .  If  the  gentleman  (mind 

you,  the  gentleman;  we  care  nothing  about  the 
women)  should  go  out,  you  are  to  follow  him  if 

it  takes  you  to .  We  want  to  know  his  secret; 

but  he  must  never  know  our  interest  in  it  and  you 
253 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

are  to  be  as  silent  in  this  matter  as  if  possessed 
of  neither  ear  nor  tongue.  I  will  add  memory,  for 
if  you  find  this  secret  to  be  one  in  which  we  have  no 
lawful  interest,  you  are  to  forget  it  absolutely  and 
for  ever.  You  will  understand  why  when  you  con 
sult  the  St.  Regis  register." 

But  they  expected  nothing  from  it;  absolutely 
nothing. 


254 


XVI 

DOUBT 

I  prayed  uncle  that  we  might  be  driven  home  by 
the  way  of  Eighty-sixth  Street.  I  wanted  to  look 
at  the  Fairbrother  house.  I  had  seen  it  many 
times,  but  I  felt  that  I  should  see  it  with  new  eyes 
after  the  story  I  had  just  heard  in  the  inspector's 
office.  That  an  adventure  of  this  nature  could 
take  place  in  a  New  York  house  taxed  my  credulity. 
I  might  have  believed  it  of  Paris,  wicked,  mysterious 
Paris,  the  home  of  intrigue  and  every  redoubtable 
crime,  but  of  our  own  homely,  commonplace  metrop 
olis — the  house  must  be  seen  for  me  to  be  convinced 
of  the  fact  related. 

Many  of  you  know  the  building.  It  is  usually 
spoken  of  with  a  shrug,  the  sole  reason  for  which 
seems  to  be  that  there  is  no  other  just  like  it  in 
the  city.  I  myself  have  always  considered  it  im 
posing  and  majestic;  but  to  the  average  man  it  is 
255 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

too  suggestive  of  Old- World  feudal  life  to  be  pleas 
ing.  On  this  afternoon- — a  dull,  depressing  one — 
it  looked  undeniably  heavy  as  we  approached  it; 
but  interesting  in  a  very  new  way  to  me,  because 
of  the  great  turret  at  one  angle,  the  scene  of  that 
midnight  descent  of  two  men,  each  in  deadly  fear 
of  the  other,  yet  quailing  not  in  their  purpose, — 
the  one  of  flight,  the  other  of  pursuit. 

There  was  no  railing  in  front  of  the  house.  It 
may  have  seemed  an  unnecessary  safeguard  to  the 
audacious  owner.  Consequently,  the  small  door  in 
the  turret  opened  directly  upon  the  street,  making 
entrance  and  exit  easy  enough  for  any  one  who 
had  the  key.  But  the  shaft  and  the  small  room  at 
the  bottom — where  were  they?  Naturally  in  the 
center  of  the  great  mass,  the  room  being  without 
windows. 

It  was,  therefore,  useless  to  look  for  it,  and  yet 
my  eye  ran  along  the  peaks  and  pinnacles  of  the 
roof,  searching  for  the  skylight  in  which  it  un 
doubtedly  ended.  At  last  I  espied  it,  and,  my  curi 
osity  satisfied  on  this  score,  I  let  my  eyes  run  over 
256 


DOUBT 

the  side  and  face  of  the  building  for  an  open  win 
dow  or  a  lifted  shade.  But  all  were  tightly  closed 
and  gave  no  more  sign  of  life  than  did  the  boarded- 
up  door.  But  I  was  not  deceived  by  this.  As  we 
drove  away,  I  thought  how  on  the  morrow  there 
would  be  a  regular  procession  passing  through  this 
street  to  see  just  the  little  I  had  seen  to-day.  The 
detective's  adventure  was  like  to  make  the  house 
notorious.  For  several  minutes  after  I  had  left  its 
neighborhood  my  imagination  pictured  room  after 
room  shut  up  from  the  light  of  day,  but  bearing 
within  them  the  impalpable  aura  of  those  two 
shadows  flitting  through  them  like  the  ghosts  of 
ghosts,  as  the  detective  had  tellingly  put  it. 

The  heart  has  its  strange  surprises.  Through 
my  whole  ride  and  the  indulgence  in  these 
thoughts  I  was  conscious  of  a  great  inner  revulsion 
against  all  I  had  intimated  and  even  honestly  felt 
while  talking  with  the  inspector.  Perhaps  this  is 
what  this  wise  old  official  expected.  He  had  let  me 
talk,  and  the  inevitable  reaction  followed.  I  could 
now  see  only  Mr.  Grey's  goodness  and  claims  to  re- 
257 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

spect,  and  began  to  hate  myself  that  I  had  not  been 
immediately  impressed  by  the  inspector's  views,  and 
shown  myself  more  willing  to  drop  every  suspicion 
against  the  august  personage  I  had  presumed  to 
associate  with  crime.  What  had  given  me  the 
strength  to  persist?  Loyalty  to  my  lover?  His  in 
nocence  had  not  been  involved.  Indeed,  every  word 
uttered  in  the  inspector's  office  had  gone  to  prove 
that  he  no  longer  occupied  a  leading  place  in  police 
calculations :  that  their  eyes  were  turned  elsewhere, 
and  that  I  had  only  to  be  patient  to  see  Mr.  Durand 
quite  cleared  in  their  minds. 

But  was  this  really  so?  Was  he  as  safe  as  that? 
What  if  this  new  clue  failed?  What  if  they  failed 
to  find  Sears  or  lay  hands  on  the  doubtful  Well- 
good?  Would  Mr.  Durand  be  released  without  a 
trial?  Should  we  hear  nothing  more  of  the  strange 
and  to  many  the  suspicious  circumstances  which 
linked  him  to  this  crime  ?  It  would  be  expecting  too 
much  from  either  police  or  official  discrimination. 

No ;  Mr.  Durand  would  never  be  completely  ex 
onerated  till  the  true  culprit  was  found  and  all 
258 


DOUBT 

explanations  made.  I  had  therefore  been  simply 
fighting  his  battles  when  I  pointed  out  what  I 
thought  to  be  the  weak  place  in  their  present 
theory,  and,  sore  as  I  felt  in  contemplation  of  my 
seemingly  heartless  action,  I  was  not  the  unimpres 
sionable,  addle-pated  nonentity  I  must  have  seemed 
to  the  inspector. 

Yet  my  comfort  was  small  and  the  effort  it  took 
to  face  Mr.  Grey  and  my  young  patient  was  much 
greater  than  I  had  anticipated.  I  blushed  as  I  ap 
proached  to  take  my  place  at  Miss  Grey's  bedside, 
and,  had  her  father  been  as  suspicious  of  me  at  that 
moment  as  I  was  of  him,  I  am  sure  that  I  should 
have  fared  badly  in  his  thoughts. 

But  he  was  not  on  the  watch  for  my  emotions. 
He  was  simply  relieved  to  see  me  back.  I  noticed 
this  immediately,  also  that  something  had  occurred 
during  my  absence  which  absorbed  his  thought  and 
filled  him  with  anxiety. 

A  Western  Union  envelope  lay  at  his  feet, — 
proof  that  he  had  just  received  a  telegram.  This, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  not  have  occa- 
25$ 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

sioned  me  a  second  thought,  such  a  man  being  natu 
rally  the  recipient  of  all  sorts  of  communications 
from  all  parts  of  the  world ;  but  at  this  crisis,  with 
the  worm  of  a  half -stifled  doubt  still  gnawing  at 
my  heart,  everything  that  occurred  to  him  took  on 
importance  and  roused  questions. 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  Miss  Grey  nestled  up 
to  me  with  the  seemingly  ingenuous  remark : 

"Poor  papa!  something  disturbs  him.  He  will 
not  tell  me  what.  I  suppose  he  thinks  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  share  his  troubles.  But  I  shall 
be  soon.  Don't  you  see  I  am  gaining  every  day?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  was  my  hearty  response.  In  face 
of  such  a  sweet  confidence  and  open  affection  doubt 
vanished  and  I  was  able  to  give  all  my  thoughts  to 
her. 

"I  wish  papa  felt  as  sure  of  this  as  you  do,"  she 
said.  "For  some  reason  he  does  not  seem  to  take 
any  comfort  from  my  improvement.  When  Doctor 
Freligh  says,  'Well,  well!  we  are  getting  on  finely 
to-day,'  I  notice  that  he  does  not  look  less  anxious, 
nor  does  he  even  meet  these  encouraging  words  with 
260 


DOUBT 

a  smile.  Haven't  you  noticed  it?  He  looks  as  care 
worn  and  troubled  about  me  now  as  he  did  the  first 
day  I  was  taken  sick.  Why  should  he?  Is  it  be 
cause  he  has  lost  so  many  children  he  can  not  be 
lieve  in  his  good  fortune  at  having  the  most  in 
significant  of  all  left  to  him  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  your  father  very  well,"  I  pro 
tested;  "and  can  not  judge  what  is  going  on  in  his 
mind.  But  he  must  see  that  you  are  quite  a  differ 
ent  girl  from  what  you  were  a  week  ago,  and  that, 
if  nothing  unforeseen  happens,  your  recovery  will 
only  be  a  matter  of  a  week  or  two  longer." 

"Oh,  how  I  love  to  hear  you  say  that !  To  be  well 
again!  To  read  letters!"  she  murmured,  "and  to 
write  them !"  And  I  saw  the  delicate  hand  falter  up 
to  pinch  the  precious  packet  awaiting  that  happy 
hour.  I  did  not  like  to  discuss  her  father  with  her, 
so  took  this  opportunity  to  turn  the  conversation 
aside  into  safer  channels.  But  we  had  not  proceeded 
far  before  Mr.  Grey  returned  and,  taking  his  stand 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  remarked,  after  a  moment's 
gloomy  contemplation  of  his  daughter's  face: 
261 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"You  are  better  to-day,  the  doctor  says, — I  have 
just  been  telephoning  to  him.  But  do  you  feel  well 
enough  for  me  to  leave  you  for  a  few  days  ?  There 
is  a  man  I  must  see — must  go  to,  if  you  have  no 
dread  of  being  left  alone  with  your  good  nurse  and 
the  doctor's  constant  attendance." 

Miss  Grey  looked  startled.  Doubtless  she  found 
it  difficult  to  understand  what  man  in  this  strange 
country  could  interest  her  father  enough  to  induce 
him  to  leave  her  while  he  was  yet  laboring  under 
such  solicitude.  But  a  smile  speedily  took  the  place 
of  her  look  of  surprised  inquiry  and  she  affection 
ately  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  I  haven't  the  least  dread  in  the  world,  not 
now.  See,  I  can  hold  up  my  arms.  Go,  papa,  go; 
it  will  give  me  a  chance  to  surprise  you  with  my 
good  looks  when  you  come  back." 

He  turned  abruptly  away.  He  was  suffering 
from  an  emotion  deeper  than  he  cared  to  acknow 
ledge.  But  he  gained  control  over  himself  speedily 
and,  coming  back,  announced  with  forced  decision : 

"I  shall  have  to  go  to-night.  I  have  no  choice. 
262 


DOUBT 

Promise  me  that  you  will  not  go  back  in  my  ab 
sence  ;  that  you  will  strive  to  get  well ;  that  you  will 
put  all  your  mind  into  striving  to  get  well." 

"Indeed,  I  will,"  she  answered,  a  little  frightened 
by  the  feeling  he  showed.  "Don't  worry  so  much. 
I  have  more  than  one  reason  for  living,  papa." 

He  shook  his  head  and  went  immediately  to  make 
his  preparations  for  departure.  His  daughter  gave 
one  sob,  then  caught  me  by  the  hand. 

"You  look  dumfounded,"  said  she.  "But  never 
mind,  we  shall  get  on  very  well  together.  I  have 
the  most  perfect  confidence  in  you." 

Was  it  my  duty  to  let  the  inspector  know  that 
Mr.  Grey  anticipated  absenting  himself  from  the 
city  for  a  few  days  ?  I  decided  that  I  would  only  be 
impressing  my  own  doubts  upon  him  after  a  rebuke 
which  should  have  allayed  them. 

Yet,  when  Mr.  Grey  came  to  take  his  departure 
I  wished  that  the  inspector  might  have  been  a  wit 
ness  to  his  emotion,  if  only  to  give  me  one  of  his 
very  excellent  explanations.  The  parting  was  more 
like  that  of  one  who  sees  no  immediate  promise  of 
263 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

return  than  of  a  traveler  who  intends  to  limit  his 
stay  to  a  few  days.  He  looked  her  in  the  eyes  and 
kissed  her  a  dozen  times,  each  time  with  an  air  of 
heartbreak  which  was  good  neither  for  her  nor  for 
himself,  and  when  he  finally  tore  himself  away  it 
was  to  look  back  at  her  from  the  door  with  an  ex 
pression  I  was  glad  she  did  not  see,  or  it  would 
certainly  have  interfered  with  the  promise  she  had 
made  to  concentrate  all  her  energies  on  getting  well. 

What  was  at  the  root  of  his  extreme  grief  at  leav 
ing  her?  Did  he  fear  the  person  he  was  going  to 
meet,  or  were  his  plans  such  as  involved  a  much 
longer  stay  than  he  had  mentioned?  Did  he  even 
mean  to  return  at  all? 

!Ah,  that  was  the  question !  Did  he  intend  to  re 
turn,  or  had  I  been  the  unconscious  witness  of  a 
flight? 


264 


XVII 

SWEETWATEB  IN  A  NEW  ROLE 

A  few  days  later  three  men  were  closeted  in  the 
district  attorney's  office.  Two  of  them  were  officials 
— the  district  attorney  liimself,  and  our  old  friend, 
the  inspector.  The  third  was  the  detective,  Sweet- 
water,  chosen  by  them  to  keep  watch  on  Mr.  Grey. 

Sweetwater  had  just  come  to  town, — this  was 
evident  from  the  gripsack  he  had  set  down  in  a 
corner  on  entering,  also  from  a  certain  tousled  ap 
pearance  which  bespoke  hasty  rising  and  but  few 
facilities  for  proper  attention  to  his  person.  These 
details  counted  little,  however,  in  the  astonishment 
created  by  his  manner.  For  a  hardy  chap  he  looked 
strangely  nervous  and  indisposed,  so  much  so  that, 
after  the  first  short  greeting,  the  inspector  asked 
him  what  was  up,  and  if  he  had  had  another  Fair- 
brother-house  experience. 

265 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

He  replied  with  a  decided  no ;  that  it  was  not  his 
adventure  which  had  upset  him,  but  the  news  he  had 
to  bring. 

Here  he  glanced  at  every  door  and  window ;  and 
then,  leaning  forward  over  the  table  at  which  the 
two  officials  sat,  he  brought  his  head  as  nearly  to 
them  as  possible  and  whispered  five  words. 

They  produced  a  most  unhappy  sensation.  Both 
the  men,  hardened  as  they  were  by  duties  which 
soon  sap  the  sensibilities,  started  and  turned  as 
pale  as  the  speaker  himself.  Then  the  district  at 
torney,  with  one  glance  at  the  inspector,  rose  and 
locked  the  door. 

It  was  a  prelude  to  this  tale  which  I  give,  not  as 
it  came  from  his  mouth,  but  as  it  was  afterward  re 
lated  to  me.  The  language,  I  fear,  is  mostly  my 
own. 

The  detective  had  just  been  with  Mr.  Grey  to 
the  coast  of  Maine.  Why  there,  will  presently  ap 
pear.  His  task  had  been  to  follow  this  gentleman, 
and  follow  him  he  did. 

Mr.  Grey  was  a  very  stately  man,  difficult  of  ap- 
266 


SWEETWATER    IN    A    NEW    R8LE 

proach,  and  was  absorbed,  besides,  by  some  over 
whelming  care.  But  this  fellow  was  one  in  a  thou 
sand  and  somehow,  during  the  trip,  he  managed 
to  do  him  some  little  service,  which  drew  the  atten 
tion  of  the  great  man  to  himself.  This  done,  he  so 
improved  his  opportunity  that  the  two  were  soon 
on  the  best  of  terms,  and  he  learned  that  the 
Englishman  was  without  a  valet,  and,  being  un 
accustomed  to  move  about  without  one,  felt  the  awk 
wardness  of  his  position  very  much.  This  gave 
Sweetwater  his  cue,  and  when  he  found  that  the 
services  of  such  a  man  were  wanted  only  during  the 
present  trip  and  for  the  handling  of  affairs  quite 
apart  from  personal  tendance  upon  the  gentleman 
himself,  he  showed  such  an  honest  desire  to  fill  the 
place,  and  made  out  to  give  such  a  good  account  of 
himself,  that  he  found  himself  engaged  for  the 
work  before  reaching  C . 

This  was  a  great  stroke  of  luck,  he  thought,  but 
he  little  knew  how  big  a  stroke  or  into  what  a 
series  of  adventures  it  was  going  to  lead  him. 

Once  on  the  platform  of  the  small  station  at 
267 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

which  Mr.  Grey  had  bidden  him  to  stop,  he  noticed 
two  things :  the  utter  helplessness  of  the  man  in  all 
practical  matters,  and  his  extreme  anxiety  to  see  all 
that  was  going  on  about  him  without  being  himself 
seen.  There  was  method  in  this  curiosity,  too  much 
method.  Women  did  not  interest  him  in  the  least. 
They  could  pass  and  repass  without  arousing  his  at 
tention,  but  the  moment  a  man  stepped  his  way,  he 
shrank  from  him  only  to  betray  the  greatest  curios 
ity  concerning  him  the  moment  he  felt  it  safe  to 
turn  and  observe  him.  All  of  which  convinced 
Sweetwater  that  the  Englishman's  errand  was  in 
connection  with  a  man  whom  he  equally  dreaded  and 
desired  to  meet. 

Of  this  he  was  made  absolutely  certain  a  little 
later.  As  they  were  leaving  the  depot  with  the  rest 
of  the  arrivals,  Mr.  Grey  said : 

"I  want  you  to  get  me  a  room  at  a  very  quiet 
hotel.  This  done,  you  are  to  hunt  up  the  man  whose 
name  you  will  find  written  in  this  paper,  and  when 
you  have  found  him,  make  up  your  mind  how  it 
will  be  possible  for  me  to  get  a  good  look  at  him 
268 


SWEETWATER   IN   A   NEW   ROLE 

without  his  getting  any  sort  of  a  look  at  me.  Do 
this  and  you  will  earn  a  week's  salary  in  one  day." 

Sweetwater,  with  his  head  in  air  and  his  heart  on 
fire — for  matters  were  looking  very  promising  in 
deed — took  the  paper  and  put  it  in  his  pocket ;  then 
he  began  to  hunt  for  a  hotel.  Not  till  he  had  found 
what  he  wished,  and  installed  the  Englishman  in 
his  room,  did  he  venture  to  open  the  precious  mem 
orandum  and  read  the  name  he  had  been  speculating 
over  for  an  hour.  It  was  not  the  one  he  had  antici 
pated,  but  it  came  near  to  it.  It  was  that  of  James 
Wellgood. 

Satisfied  now  that  he  had  a  ticklish  matter  to 
handle,  he  prepared  for  it,  with  his  usual  enthusi 
asm  and  circumspection. 

Sauntering  out  into  the  street,  he  strolled  first 
toward  the  post-office.  The  train  on  which  he  had 
just  come  had  been  a  mail- train,  and  he  calculated 
that  he  would  find  half  the  town  there. 

His  calculation  was  a  correct  one.  The  store  was 
crowded  with  people.  Taking  his  place  in  the  line 
drawn  up  before  the  post-office  window,  he  awaited 
269 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

his  turn,  and  when  it  came  shouted  out  the  name 
which  was  his  one  talisman — James  Wellgood. 

The  man  behind  the  boxes  was  used  to  the  name 
and  reached  out  a  hand  toward  a  box  unusually  well 
stacked,  but  stopped  half-way  there  and  gave 
Sweetwater  a  sharp  look. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"A  stranger,"  that  young  man  put  in  volubly, 
"looking  for  James  Wellgood.  I  thought,  perhaps, 
you  could  tell  me  where  to  find  him.  I  see  that  his 
letters  pass  through  this  office." 

"You're  taking  up  another  man's  time,"  com 
plained  the  postmaster.  He  probably  alluded  to  the 
man  whose  elbow  Sweetwater  felt  boring  into  his 
back.  "Ask  Dick  over  there ;  he  knows  him." 

The  detective  was  glad  enough  to  escape  and  ask 
Dick.  But  he  was  better  pleased  yet  when  Dick — 
a  fellow  with  a  squint  whose  hand  was  always  in  the 
sugar — told  him  that  Mr.  Wellgood  would  proba 
bly  be  in  for  his  mail  in  a  few  moments.  "That  is 
his  buggy  standing  before  the  drug-store  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  way." 
270 


SWEETWATER   IN    A   NEW   R8LE 

So!  he  had  netted  Jones'  quondam  waiter  at  the 
first  cast !  "Lucky !"  was  what  he  said  to  himself, 
"still  lucky!" 

Sauntering  to  the  door,  he  watched  for  the  owner 
of  that  buggy.  He  had  learned,  as  such  fellows  do, 
that  there  was  a  secret  hue  and  cry  after  this  very 
man  by  the  New  York  police ;  that  he  was  supposed 
by  some  to  be  Sears  himself.  In  this  way  he  would 
soon  be  looking  upon  the  very  man  whose  steps  he 
had  followed  through  the  Fairbrother  house  a  few 
nights  before,  and  through  whose  resolute  action  he 
had  very  nearly  run  the  risk  of  a  lingering  death 
from  starvation. 

"A  dangerous  customer,"  thought  he.  "I  wonder 
if  my  instinct  will  go  so  far  as  to  make  me  recog 
nize  his  presence.  I  shouldn't  wonder.  It  has  served 
me  almost  as  well  as  that  many  times  before." 

It  appeared  to  serve  him  now,  for  when  the  man 
finally  showed  himself  on  the  cross-walk  separating 
the  two  buildings  he  experienced  a  sudden  indecision 
not  unlike  that  of  dread,  and  there  being  nothing  in 
the  man's  appearance  to  warrant  apprehension,  he 
271 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

took  it  for  the  instinctive  recognition  it  undoubtedly 
was. 

He  therefore  watched  him  narrowly  and  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  one  glance  from  his  eye.  It  was 
enough.  The  man  was  commonplace, — common 
place  in  feature,  dress  and  manner,  but  his  eye  gave 
him  away.  There  was  nothing  commonplace  in  that. 
It  was  an  eye  to  beware  of. 

He  had  taken  in  Sweetwater  as  he  passed,  but 
Sweetwater  was  of  a  commonplace  type,  too,  and 
woke  no  corresponding  dread  in  the  other's  mind; 
for  he  went  whistling  into  the  store,  from  which  he 
presently  reissued  with  a  bundle  of  mail  in  his  hand. 
The  detective's  first  instinct  was  to  take  him  into 
custody  as  a  suspect  much  wanted  by  the  New  York 
police ;  but  reason  assured  him  that  he  not  only  had 
no  warrant  for  this,  but  that  he  would  better  serve 
the  ends  of  justice  by  following  out  his  present 
task  of  bringing  this  man  and  the  Englishman  to 
gether  and  watching  the  result.  But  how,  with  the 
conditions  laid  on  him  by  Mr.  Grey,  was  this  to  be 
done  ?  He  knew  nothing  of  the  man's  circumstances 
272 


SWEETWATER   IN   A   NEW   R^LE 

or  of  his  position  in  the  town.  How,  then,  go  to 
work  to  secure  his  cooperation  in  a  scheme  possibly 
as  mysterious  to  him  as  it  was  to  himself?  He  could 
stop  this  stranger  in  mid-street,  with  some  plausible 
excuse,  but  it  did  not  follow  that  he  would  succeed 
in  luring  him  to  the  hotel  where  Mr.  Grey  could 
see  him.  Wellgood,  or,  as  he  believed,  Sears,  knew 
too  much  of  life  to  be  beguiled  by  any  open  clap 
trap,  and  Sweetwater  was  obliged  to  see  him  drive 
off  without  having  made  the  least  advance  in  the 
purpose  engrossing  him. 

But  that  was  nothing.  He  had  all  the  evening 
before  him,  and  reentering  the  store,  he  took  up  his 
stand  near  the  sugar  barrel.  He  had  perceived  that 
in  the  pauses  of  weighing  and  tasting,  Dick  talked ; 
if  he  were  guided  with  suitable  discretion,  why 
should  he  not  talk  of  Wellgood? 

He  was  guided,  and  he  did  talk  and  to  some 
effect.  That  is,  he  gave  information  of  the  man 
which  surprised  Sweetwater.  If  in  the  past  and  in 
New  York  he  had  been  known  as  a  waiter,  or  should 
I  say  steward,  he  was  known  here  as  a  manufacturer 
273 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

of  patent  medicine  designed  to  rejuvenate  the  hu 
man  race.  He  had  not  been  long  in  town  and  was 
somewhat  of  a  stranger  yet,  but  he  wouldn't  be  so 
long.  He  was  going  to  make  things  hum,  he  was. 
Money  for  this,  money  for  that,  a  horse  where  an 
other  man  would  walk,  and  mail — well,  that  alone 
would  make  this  post-office  worth  while.  Then  the 
drugs — ordered  by  wholesale.  Those  boxes  over 
there  were  his,  ready  to  be  carted  out  to  his  manu 
factory.  Count  them,  some  one,  and  think  of  the 
bottles  and  bottles  of  stuff  they  stand  for.  If  it 
sells  as  he  says  it  will — then  he  will  soon  be  rich: 
and  so  on,  till  Sweetwater  brought  the  garrulous 
Dick  to  a  standstill  by  asking  whether  Wellgood 
had  been  away  for  any  purpose  since  he  first  came 
to  town.  He  received  the  reply  that  he  had  just 
come  home  from  New  York,  where  he  had  been  for 
some  articles  needed  in  his  manufactory.  Sweet- 
water  felt  all  his  convictions  confirmed,  and  ended 
the  colloquy  with  the  final  question : 

"And  where  is  his  manufactory  ?  Might  be  worth 
visiting,  perhaps." 

274 


SWEETWATER    IN    A    NEW   ROLE 

The  other  made  a  gesture,  said  something  about 
northwest  and  rushed  to  help  a  customer.  Sweet- 
water  took  the  opportunity  to  slide  away.  More 
explicit  directions  could  easily  be  got  elsewhere,  and 
he  felt  anxious  to  return  to  Mr.  Grey  and  discover, 
if  possible,  whether  it  would  prove  as  much  a  mat 
ter  of  surprise  to  him  as  to  Sweetwater  himself  that 
the  man  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Wellgood  was 
the  owner  of  a  manufactory  and  a  barrel  or  two  of 
drugs,  out  of  which  he  proposed  to  make  a  com 
pound  that  would  rob  the  doctors  of  their  business 
and  make  himself  and  this  little  village  rich. 

Sweetwater  made  only  one  stop  on  his  way  to  Mr. 
Grey's  hotel  rooms,  and  that  was  at  the  stables. 
Here  he  learned  whatever  else  there  was  to  know, 
and,  armed  with  definite  information,  he  appeared 
before  Mr.  Grey,  who,  to  his  astonishment,  was 
dining  in  his  own  room. 

He  had  dismissed  the  waiter  and  was  rather 
brooding  than  eating.  He  looked  up  eagerly,  how 
ever,  when  Sweetwater  entered,  and  asked  what  news. 

The  detective,  with  some  semblance  of  respect, 
275 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

answered  that  he  had  seen  Wellgood,  but  that  he 
had  been  unable  to  detain  him  or  bring  him  within 
his  employer's  observation. 

"He  is  a  patent-medicine  man,"  he  then  ex 
plained,  "and  manufactures  his  own  concoctions  in 
a  house  he  has  rented  here  on  a  lonely  road  some 
half-mile  out  of  town." 

"Wellgood  does?  the  man  named  Wellgood?" 
Mr.  Grey  exclaimed  with  all  the  astonishment  the 
other  secretly  expected. 

"Yes ;  Wellgood,— James  Wellgood.  There  is  no 
other  in  town." 

"How  long  has  this  man  been  here  ?"  the  states 
man  inquired,  after  a  moment  of  apparently  great 
discomfiture. 

"Just  twenty-four  hours,  this  time.  He  was  here 
once  before,  when  he  rented  the  house  and  made  all 
his  plans." 

"Ah!" 

Mr.  Grey  rose  precipitately.  His  manner  had 
changed. 

"I  must  see  him.  What  you  tell  me  makes  it  all 
276 


SWEETWATER    IN    A    NEW    ROLE 

the  more  necessary  for  me  to  see  him.  How  can  you 
bring  it  about?" 

"Without  his  seeing  you?"  Sweetwater  asked. 

"Yes,  yes;  certainly  without  his  seeing  me. 
Couldn't  you  rap  him  up  at  his  own  door,  and  hold 
him  in  talk  a  minute,  while  I  looked  on  from  the 
carriage  or  whatever  vehicle  we  can  get  to  carry  us 
there?  The  least  glimpse  of  his  face  would  satisfy 
me.  That  is,  to-night." 

"I'll  try,"  said  Sweetwater,  not  very  sanguine  as 
to  the  probable  result  of  this  effort. 

Returning  to  the  stables,  he  ordered  the  team. 
With  the  last  ray  of  the  sun  they  set  out,  the  reins 
in  Sweetwater's  hands. 

They  headed  for  the  coast-road. 


277 


xvm 

THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

The  road  was  once  the  highway,  but  the  tide 
having  played  so  many  tricks  with  its  numberless 
bridges  a  new  one  had  been  built  farther  up  the 
cliff,  carrying  with  it  the  life  and  business  of  the 
small  town.  Many  old  landmarks  still  remained — 
shops,  warehouses  and  even  a  few  scattered  dwell 
ings.  But  most  of  these  were  deserted,  and  those 
that  were  still  in  use  showed  such  neglect  that  it 
was  very  evident  the  whole  region  would  soon  be 
given  up  to  the  encroaching  sea  and  such  interests 
as  are  inseparable  from  it. 

The  hour  was  that  mysterious  one  of  late  twi 
light,  when  outlines  lose  their  distinctness  and  sea 
and  shore  melt  into  one  mass  of  uniform  gray. 
There  was  no  wind  and  the  waves  came  in  with  a 
soft  plash,  but  so  near  to  the  level  of  the  road  that 
it  was  evident,  even  to  these  strangers,  that  the 
278 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR 

tide  was  at  its  height  and  would  presently  begin 
to  ebb. 

Soon  they  had  passed  the  last  forsaken  dwelling, 
and  the  town  proper  lay  behind  them.  Sand  and 
a  few  rocks  were  all  that  lay  between  them  now 
and  the  open  stretch  of  the  ocean,  which,  at  this 
point,  approached  the  land  in  a  small  bay,  well- 
guarded  on  either  side  by  embracing  rocky  heads. 
This  was  what  made  the  harbor  at  C . 

It  was  very  still.  They  passed  one  team  and  only 
one.  Sweetwater  looked  very  sharply  at  this  team 
and  at  its  driver,  but  saw  nothing  to  arouse  suspi 
cion.  They  were  now  a  half-mile  from  C ,  and, 

seemingly,  in  a  perfectly  desolate  region. 

"A  manufactory  here!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grey.  It 
was  the  first  word  he  had  uttered  since  starting. 

"Not  far  from  here,"  was  Sweetwater's  equally 
laconic  reply;  and,  the  road  taking  a  turn  almost 
at  the  moment  of  his  speaking,  he  leaned  forward 
and  pointed  out  a  building  standing  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  road,  with  its  feet  in  the  water. 
"That's  it."  said  he.  "They  described  it  well 
279 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

enough  for  me  to  know  it  when  I  see  it.  Looks  like 
a  robber's  hole  at  this  time  of  night,"  he  laughed; 
"but  what  can  you  expect  from  a  manufactory  of 
patent  medicine?" 

Mr.  Grey  was  silent.  He  was  looking  very  earn 
estly  at  the  building. 

"It  is  larger  than  I  expected,"  he  remarked  at 
last. 

Sweetwater  himself  was  surprised,  but  as  they 
advanced  and  their  point  of  view  changed  they 
found  it  to  be  really  an  insignificant  structure,  and 
Mr.  Wellgood's  portion  of  it  more  insignificant  still. 

In  reality  it  was  a  collection  of  three  stores  un 
der  one  roof:  two  of  them  were  shut  up  and  evi 
dently  unoccupied,  the  third  showed  a  lighted  win 
dow.  This  was  the  manufactory.  It  occupied  the 
middle  place  and  presented  a  tolerably  decent  ap 
pearance.  It  showed,  besides  the  lighted  lamp  I 
have  mentioned,  such  signs  of  life  as  a  few  packing- 
boxes  tumbled  out  on  the  small  platform  in  front, 
and  a  whinnying  horse  attached  to  an  empty  buggy, 
tied  to  a  post  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road. 
280 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR 

"I'm  glad  to  see  the  lamp,"  muttered  Sweet- 
water.  "Now,  what  shall  we  do  ?  Is  it  light  enough 
for  you  to  see  his  face,  if  I  can  manage  to  bring 
him  to  the  door?" 

Mr.  Grey  seemed  startled. 

"It's  darker  than  I  thought,"  said  he.  "But  call 
the  man  and  if  I  can  not  see  him  plainly,  I'll  shout 
to  the  horse  to  stand,  which  you  will  take  as  a 
signal  to  bring  this  Wellgood  nearer.  But  do  not 
be  surprised  if  I  ride  off  before  he  reaches  the 
buggy.  I'll  come  back  again  and  take  you  up 
farther  down  the  road." 

"All  right,  sir,"  answered  Sweetwater,  with  a 
side  glance  at  the  speaker's  inscrutable  features. 
"It's  a  go!"  And  leaping  to  the  ground  he  ad 
vanced  to  the  manufactory  door  and  knocked 
loudly. 

No  one  appeared. 

He  tried  the  latch;  it  lifted,  but  the  door  did  not 
open ;  it  was  fastened  from  within. 

"Strange !"  he  muttered,  casting  a  glance  at  the 
waiting  horse  and  buggy,  then  at  the  lighted  win- 
281 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

dow,  which  was  on  the  second  floor  directly  over  his 
head.  "Guess  I'll  sing  out." 

Here  he  shouted  the  man's  name.  "Wellgood! 
I  say,  Wellgood!" 

No  response  to  this  either. 

"Looks  bad!"  he  acknowledged  to  himself;  and, 
taking  a  step  back,  he  looked  up  at  the  window. 

It  was  closed,  but  there  was  neither  shade  nor 
curtain  to  obstruct  the  view. 

"Do  you  see  anything?"  he  inquired  of  Mr.  Grey, 
who  sat  with  his  eye  at  the  small  window  in  the 
buggy  top. 

"Nothing." 

"No  movement  in  the  room  above?  No  shadow 
at  the  window?" 

"Nothing." 

"Well,  it's  confounded  strange!"  And  he  went 
back,  still  calling  Wellgood. 

The  tied-up  horse  whinnied,  and  the  waves  gave 
a  soft  splash  and  that  was  all, — if  I  except  Sweet- 
water's  muttered  oath. 

Coming  back,  he  looked  again  at  the  window, 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR 

then,  with  a  gesture  toward  Mr.  Grey,  turned  the 
corner  of  the  building  and  began  to  edge  himself 
along  its  side  in  an  endeavor  to  reach  the  rear  and 
see  what  it  offered.  But  he  came  to  a  sudden  stand 
still.  He  found  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bank 
before  he  had  taken  twenty  steps.  Yet  the  building 
projected  on,  and  he  saw  why  it  had  looked  so  large 
from  a  certain  point  of  the  approach.  Its  rear  was 
built  out  on  piles,  making  its  depth  even  greater 
than  the  united  width  of  the  three  stores.  At  low 
tide  this  might  be  accessible  from  below,  but  just 
now  the  water  was  almost  on  a  level  with  the  top  of 
the  piles,  making  all  approach  impossible  save  by 
boat. 

Disgusted  with  his  failure,  Sweetwater  returned 
to  the  front,  and,  finding  the  situation  unchanged, 
took  a  new  resolve.  After  measuring  with  his  eye 
the  height  of  the  first  story,  he  coolly  walked  over 
to  the  strange  horse,  and,  slipping  his  bridle, 
brought  it  back  and  cast  it  over  a  projection  of  the 
door ;  by  its  aid  he  succeeded  in  climbing  up  to  the 
window,  which  was  the  sole  eye  to  the  interior, 
283 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

Mr.  Grey  sat  far  back  in  his  buggy,  watching 
every  movement. 

There  were  no  shades  at  the  window,  as  I  have  be 
fore  said,  and,  once  Sweetwater's  eye  had  reached 
the  level  of  the  sill,  he  could  see  the  interior  without 
the  least  difficulty.  There  was  nobody  there.  The 
lamp  burned  on  a  great  table  littered  with  papers, 
but  the  rude  cane-chair  before  it  was  empty,  and  so 
was  the  room.  He  could  see  into  every  corner  of  it 
and  there  was  not  even  a  hiding-place  where  any 
body  could  remain  concealed.  Sweetwater  was  still 
looking,  when  the  lamp,  which  had  been  burning 
with  considerable  smoke,  flared  up  and  went  out. 
Sweetwater  uttered  an  ejaculation,  and,  finding 
himself  face  to  face  with  utter  darkness,  slid  from 
his  perch  to  the  ground. 

Approaching  Mr.  Grey  for  the  second  time,  he 
said: 

"I  can  not  understand  it.     The  fellow  is  either 

lying  low,  or  he's  gone  out,  leaving  his  lamp  to  go 

out,  too.    But  whose  is  the  horse — just  excuse  me 

while  I  tie  him  up  again.     It  looks  like  the  one  he 

284 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR 

was  driving  to-day.  It  is  the  one.  Well,  he  won't 
leave  him  here  all  night.  Shall  we  lie  low  and  wait 
for  him  to  come  and  unhitch  this  animal?  Or  do 
you  prefer  to  return  to  the  hotel?" 

Mr.  Grey  was  slow  in  answering.  Finally  he 
said: 

"The  man  may  suspect  our  intention.  You  can 
never  tell  anything  about  such  fellows  as  he.  He 
may  have  caught  some  unexpected  glimpse  of  me 
or  simply  heard  that  I  was  in  town.  If  he's  the  man 
I  think  him,  he  has  reasons  for  avoiding  me  which 
I  can  very  well  understand.  Let  us  go  back, — not 
to  the  hotel,  I  must  see  this  adventure  through  to 
night, — but  far  enough  for  him  to  think  we  liave 
given  up  all  idea  of  routing  him  out  to-night.  Per 
haps  that  is  all  he  is  waiting  for.  You  can  steal 
back—" 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Sweetwater,  "but  I  know  a 
better  dodge  than  that.  We'll  circumvent  him.  We 
passed  a  boat-house  on  our  way  down  here.  I'll  just 
drive  you  up,  procure  a  boat,  and  bring  you  back 
here  by  water.  I  don't  believe  that  he  will  expect 
285 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that,  and  if  he  is  in  the  house  we  shall  see  him  or 
his  light." 

"Meanwhile  he  can  escape  by  the  road." 

"Escape?  Do  you  think  he  is  planning  to  es 
cape?" 

The  detective  spoke  with  becoming  surprise  and 
Mr.  Grey  answered  without  apparent  suspicion. 

"It  is  possible  if  he  suspects  my  presence  in  the 
neighborhood." 

"Do  you  want  to  stop  him?" 

"I  want  to  see  him." 

"Oh,  I  remember.  Well,  sir,  we  will  drive  on, — 
that  is,  after  a  moment." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  You  said  you  wanted  to  see  the 
man  before  he  escaped." 

"Yes,  but—" 

"And  that  he  might  escape  by  the  road." 

«Yes—" 

"Well,  I  was  just  making  that  a  little  bit  im 
practicable.  A  small  pebble  in  the  keyhole  and — 
why,  see  now,  his  horse  is  walking  off!  Gee!  I 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR 

must  have  fastened  him  badly.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  he  trotted  all  the  way  to  town.  But  it  can't  be 
helped.  I  can  not  be  supposed  to  race  after  him. 
Are  you  ready  now,  sir?  I'll  give  another  shout, 
then  I'll  get  in."  And  once  more  the  lonely  region 
about  echoed  with  the  cry:  "Wellgood!  I  say, 
Wellgood!" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  young  detective, 
masking  for  the  nonce  as  Mr.  Grey's  confidential 
servant,  jumped  into  the  buggy,  and  turned  the 
horse's  head  toward  C . 


287 


XIX 

THE    FACE 

The  moon  was  well  up  when  the  small  boat  in 
which  our  young  detective  was  seated  with  Mr. 
Grey  appeared  in  the  bay  approaching  the  so- 
called  manufactory  of  Wellgood.  The  looked-for 
light  on  the  waterside  was  not  there.  All  was  dark 
except  where  the  windows  reflected  the  light  of  the 
moon. 

This  was  a  decided  disappointment  to  Sweet- 
water,  if  not  to  Mr.  Grey.  He  had  expected  to  de 
tect  signs  of  life  in  this  quarter,  and  this  additional 
proof  of  Wellgood's  absence  from  home  made  it 
look  as  if  they  had  come  out  on  a  fool's  errand  and 
might  much  better  have  stuck  to  the  road. 

"No  promise  there,"  came  in  a  mutter  from  his 
lips.  "Shall  I  row  in,  sir,  and  try  to  make  a  land- 
ing?" 

"You  may  row  nearer.  I  should  like  a  closer 
288 


THE    FACE 

view.    I  don't  think  we  shall  attract  any  attention. 
There  are  more  boats  than  ours  on  the  water." 

Sweetwater  was  startled.  Looking  round,  he  saw 
a  launch,  or  some  such  small  steamer,  riding  at 
anchor  not  far  from  the  mouth  of  the  bay.  But 
that  was  not  all.  Between  it  and  them  was  a  row- 
boat  like  their  own,  resting  quietly  in  the  wake  of 
the  moon. 

"I  don't  like  so  much  company,"  he  muttered. 
"Something's  brewing ;  something  in  which  we  may 
not  want  to  take  a  part." 

"Very  likely,"  answered  Mr.  Grey  grimly.  "But 
we  must  not  be  deterred — not  till  I  have  seen — 
the  rest  Sweetwater  did  not  hear.  Mr.  Grey  seemed 
to  remember  himself.  "Row  nearer,"  he  now  bade. 
"Get  under  the  shadow  of  the  rocks  if  you  can.  If 
the  boat  is  for  him,  he  will  show  himself.  Yet  I 
hardly  see  how  he  can  board  from  that  bank." 

It  did  not  look  feasible.  Nevertheless,  they  waited 

and  watched  with  much  patience  for  several  long 

minutes.    The  boat  behind  them  did  not  advance, 

nor  was  any  movement  discernible  in  the  direction 

289 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

of  the  manufactory.  Another  short  period,  then 
suddenly  a  light  flashed  from  a  window  high  up  in 
the  central  gable,  sparkled  for  an  instant  and  was 
gone.  Sweetwater  took  it  for  a  signal  and,  with  a 
slight  motion  of  the  wrist,  began  to  work  his  way  in 
toward  shore  till  they  lay  almost  at  the  edge  of  the 
piles. 

"Hark!" 

It  was  Sweetwater  who  spoke. 

Both  listened,  Mr.  Grey  with  his  head  turned 
toward  the  launch  and  Sweetwater  with  his  eye  on 
the  cavernous  space,  sharply  outlined  by  the  piles, 
which  the  falling  tide  now  disclosed  under  each 
contiguous  building.  Goods  had  been  directly 
shipped  from  these  stores  in  the  old  days.  This  he 
had  learned  in  the  village.  How  shipped  he  had  not 
been  able  to  understand  from  his  previous  survey 
of  the  building.  But  he  thought  he  could  see  now. 
At  low  tide,  or  better,  at  half-tide,  access  could  be 
got  to  the  floor  of  the  extension  and,  if  this  floor 
held  a  trap,  the  mystery  would  be  explainable.  So 
would  be  the  hovering  boat — the  signal-light  and — 

290 


A  face  started  out  of  the  darkness.     Page  292 


THE    FACE 

yes!  this  sound  overheard  of  steps  on  a  rattling 
planking. 

"I  hear  nothing,"  whispered  Mr.  Grey  from  the 
other  end.  "The  boat  is  still  there,  but  not  a  man 
has  dipped  an  oar." 

"They  will  soon,"  returned  Sweetwater  as  a 
smothered  sound  of  clanking  iron  reached  his  ears 
from  the  hollow  spaces  before  him.  "Duck  your 
head,  sir;  I'm  going  to  row  in  under  this  portion 
of  the  house." 

Mr.  Grey  would  have  protested  and  with  very 
good  reason.  There  was  scarcely  a  space  of  three 
feet  between  them  and  the  boards  overhead.  But 
Sweetwater  had  so  immediately  suited  action  to 
word  that  he  had  no  choice. 

They  were  now  in  utter  darkness,  and  Mr.  Grey's 
thoughts  must  have  been  peculiar  as  he  crouched 
over  the  stern,  hardly  knowing  what  to  expect  or 
whether  this  sudden  launch  into  darkness  was  for 
the  purpose  of  flight  or  pursuit.  But  enlighten 
ment  came  soon.  The  sound  of  a  man's  tread  in 
the  building  above  was  every  moment  becoming 
291 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

more  perceptible,  and  while  wondering,  possibly,  at 
his  position,  Mr.  Grey  naturally  turned  his  head 
as  nearly  as  he  could  in  the  direction  of  these 
sounds,  and  was  staring  with  blank  eyes  into  the 
darkness,  when  Sweetwater,  leaning  toward  him, 
whispered : 

"Look  up!  There's  a  trap.  In  a  minute  he'll 
open  it.  Mark  him,  but  don't  breathe  a  word,  and 
I'll  get  you  out  of  this  all  right." 

Mr.  Grey  attempted  some  answer,  but  it  was  lost 
in  the  prolonged  creak  of  slowly-moving  hinges 
somewhere  over  their  heads.  Spaces,  which  had 
looked  dark,  suddenly  looked  darker;  hearing  was 
satisfied,  but  not  the  eye.  A  man's  breath  panting 
with  exertion  testified  to  a  near-by  presence;  but 
that  man  was  working  without  a  light  in  a  room 
with  shuttered  windows,  and  Mr.  Grey  probably 
felt  that  he  knew  very  little  more  than  before,  when 
suddenly,  most  unexpectedly,  to  him  at  least,  a  face 
started  out  of  that  overhead  darkness;  a  face  so 
white,  with  every  feature  made  so  startlingly  dis 
tinct  by  the  strong  light  Sweetwater  had  thrown 
292 


THE    FACE 

upon  it,  that  it  seemed  the  only  thing  in  the  world 
to  the  two  men  beneath.  In  another  moment  it  had 
vanished,  or  rather  the  light  which  had  revealed  it. 

<fWhat's  that?  Are  you  there?"  came  down  from 
above  in  hoarse  and  none  too  encouraging  tones. 

There  was  none  to  answer;  Sweetwater,  with  a 
quick  pull  on  the  oars,  had  already  shot  the  boat 
out  of  its  dangerous  harbor. 


293 


XX 


MOONLIGHT AND    A    CLUE 

"Are  you  satisfied?  Have  you  got  what  you 
wanted?"  asked  Sweetwater,  when  they  were  well 
away  from  the  shore  and  the  voice  they  had  heard 
calling  at  intervals  from  the  chasm  they  had  left. 

"Yes.  You're  a  good  fellow.  It  could  not  have 
been  better  managed."  Then,  after  a  pause  too 
prolonged  and  thoughtful  to  please  Sweetwater, 
who  was  burning  with  curiosity  if  not  with  some 
deeper  feeling :  "What  was  that  light  you  burned  ? 
A  match?" 

Sweetwater  did  not  answer.  He  dared  not.  How 
speak  of  the  electric  torch  he  as  a  detective  carried 
in  his  pocket?  That  would  be  to  give  himself  away. 
He  therefore  let  this  question  slip  by  and  put  in  one 
of  his  own. 

"Are  you  ready  to  go  back  now,  sir?  Are  we  all 
done  here?"  This  with  his  ear  turned  and  his  eye 
294 


MOONLIGHT— AND    A    CLUE 

bent  forward;  for  the  adventure  they  had  inter 
rupted  was  not  at  an  end,  whether  their  part  in  it 
was  or  not. 

Mr.  Grey  hesitated,  his  glances  following  those 
of  Sweetwater. 

"Let  us  wait,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  which  surprised 
Sweetwater.  "If  he  is  meditating  an  escape,  I  must 
speak  to  him  before  he  reaches  the  launch.  At  all 
hazards,"  he  added  after  another  moment's  thought. 

"All  right,  sir.   How  do  you  propose — " 

His  words  were  interrupted  by  a  shrill  whistle 
from  the  direction  of  the  bank.  Promptly,  and  as  if 
awaiting  this  signal,  the  two  men  in  the  rowboat 
before  them  dipped  their  oars  and  pulled  for  the 
shore,  taking  the  direction  of  the  manufactory. 

Sweetwater  said  nothing,  but  held  himself  in 
readiness. 

Mr.  Grey  was  equally  silent,  but  the  lines  of  his 
face  seemed  to  deepen  in  the  moonlight  as  the  boat, 
gliding  rapidly  through  the  water,  passed  them 
within  a  dozen  boat-lengths  and  slipped  into  the 
opening  under  the  manufactory  building. 
295 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Now  row!"  he  cried.  "Make  for  the  launch. 
We'll  intercept  them  on  their  return." 

Sweetwater,  glowing  with  anticipation,  bent  to 
his  work.  The  boat  beneath  them  gave  a  bound 
and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  far  out  on  the 
waters  of  the  bay. 

"They're  coming!"  he  whispered  eagerly,  as  he 
saw  Mr.  Grey  looking  anxiously  back.  "How  much 
farther  shall  I  go?" 

"Just  within  hailing  distance  of  the  launch,"  was 
Mr.  Grey's  reply. 

Sweetwater,  gaging  the  distance  with  a  glance, 
stopped  at  the  proper  point  and  rested  on  his  oars. 
But  his  thoughts  did  not  rest.  He  realized  that  he 
was  about  to  witness  an  interview  whose  importance 
he  easily  recognized.  How  much  of  it  would  he 
hear?  What  would  be  the  upshot  and  what  was  his 
full  duty  in  the  case?  He  knew  that  this  man  Well- 
good  was  wanted  by  the  New  York  police,  but  he 
was  possessed  with  no  authority  to  arrest  him, 
even  if  he  had  the  power. 

"Something  more  than  I  bargained  for,"  he  in- 
296 


MOONLIGHT— AND    A    CLUE 

wardly  commented.  "But  I  wanted  excitement,  and 
now  I  have  got  it.  If  only  I  can  keep  my  head  level, 
I  may  get  something  out  of  this,  if  not  all  I  could 
wish." 

Meantime  the  second  boat  was  very  nearly  on 
them.  He  could  mark  the  three  figures  and  pick 
out  Wellgood's  head  from  among  the  rest.  It  had 
a  resolute  air;  the  face  on  which,  to  his  evident 
discomfiture,  the  moon  shone,  wore  a  look  which 
convinced  the  detective  that  this  was  no  patent- 
medicine  manufacturer,  nor  even  a  caterer's  assist 
ant,  but  a  man  of  nerve  and  resources,  the  same, 
indeed,  whom  he  had  encountered  in  Mr.  Fair- 
brother's  house,  with  such  disastrous,  almost  fatal, 
results  to  himself. 

The  discovery,  though  an  unexpected  one,  did 
not  lessen  his  sense  of  the  extreme  helplessness  of 
his  own  position.  He  could  witness,  but  he  could 
not  act;  follow  Mr.  Grey's  orders,  but  indulge  in 
none  of  his  own.  The  detective  must  continue  to  be 
lost  in  the  valet,  though  it  came  hard  and  woke  a 
sense  of  shame  in  his  ambitious  breast. 
297 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

Meanwhile  Wellgood  had  seen  them  and  ordered 
his  men  to  cease  rowing. 

"Give  way,  there,"  he  shouted.  "We're  for  the 
launch  and  in  a  hurry." 

"There's  some  one  here  who  wants  to  speak  to 
you,  Mr.  Wellgood,"  Sweetwater  called  out,  as  re 
spectfully  as  he  could.  "Shall  I  mention  your 
name  ?"  he  asked  of  Mr.  Grey. 

"No,  I  will  do  that  myself."  And  raising  his 
voice,  he  accosted  the  other  with  these  words:  "I 
am  the  man,  Percival  Grey,  of  Darlington  Manor, 
England.  I  should  like  to  say  a  word  to  you  before 
you  embark." 

A  change,  quick  as  lightning  and  almost  as  dan 
gerous,  passed  over  the  face  Sweetwater  was  watch 
ing  with  such  painful  anxiety;  but  as  the  other 
added  nothing  to  his  words  and  seemed  to  be  merely 
waiting,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  muttered 
an  order  to  his  rowers  to  proceed. 

In  another  moment  the  sterns  of  the  two  small 
craft  swung  together,  but  in  such  a  way  that,  by 
dint  of  a  little  skilful  manipulation  on  the  part  of 


MOONLIGHT— AND    A    CLUE 

Wellgood's  men,  the  latter's  back  was  toward  the 
moon. 

Mr.  Grey  leaned  toward  Wellgood,  and  his  face 
fell  into  shadow  also. 

"Bah!"  thought  the  detective,  "I  should  have 
managed  that  myself.  But  if  I  can  not  see  I  shall 
at  least  hear." 

But  he  deceived  himself  in  this.  The  two  men 
spoke  in  such  low  whispers  that  only  their  intensity 
was  manifest.  Not  a  word  came  to  Sweetwater's 
ears. 

"Bah!"  he  thought  again,  "this  is  bad." 

But  he  had  to  swallow  his  disappointment,  and 
more.  For  presently  the  two  men,  so  different  in 
culture,  station  and  appearance,  came,  as  it  seemed, 
to  an  understanding,  and  Wellgood,  taking  his 
hand  from  his  breast,  fumbled  in  one  of  his  pockets 
and  drew  out  something  which  he  handed  to  Mr. 
Grey. 

This  made  Sweetwater  start  and  peer  with  still 
greater  anxiety  at  every  movement,  when  to  his  sur 
prise  both  bent  forward,  each  over  his  own  knee, 
299 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

doing  something  so  mysterious  he  could  get  no 
clue  to  its  nature  till  they  again  stretched  forth 
their  hands  to  each  other  and  he  caught  the  gleam 
of  paper  and  realized  that  they  were  exchanging 
memoranda  or  notes. 

These  must  have  been  important,  for  each  made 
an  immediate  endeavor  to  read  his  slip  by  turning 
it  toward  the  moon's  rays.  That  both  were  satisfied 
was  shown  by  their  after  movements.  Wellgood  put 
his  slip  into  his  pocket,  and  without  further  word 
to  Mr.  Grey  motioned  his  men  to  row  away.  They 
did  so  with  a  will,  leaving  a  line  of  silver  in  their 
wake.  Mr.  Grey,  on  the  contrary,  gave  no  orders. 
He  still  held  his  slip  and  seemed  to  be  dreaming. 
But  his  eye  was  on  the  shore,  and  he  did  not  even 
turn  when  sounds  from  the  launch  denoted  that  she 
was  under  way. 

Sweetwater,  looking  at  this  morsel  of  paper  with 
greedy  eyes,  dipped  his  oars  and  began  pulling 
softly  toward  that  portion  of  the  beach  where  a 
small  and  twinkling  light  defined  the  boat-house. 
He  hoped  Mr.  Grey  would  speak,  hoped  that  in 
300 


MOONLIGHT— AND    A    CLUE 

some  way,  by  some  means,  he  might  obtain  a  clue 
to  his  patron's  thoughts.  But  the  English  gentle 
man  sat  like  an  image  and  did  not  move  till  a  slight 
but  sudden  breeze,  blowing  in-shore,  seized  the 
paper  in  his  hand  and  carried  it  away,  past  Sweet- 
water,  who  vainly  sought  to  catch  it  as  it  went 
fluttering  by,  into  the  water  ahead,  where  it  shone 
for  a  moment,  then  softly  disappeared. 

Sweetwater  uttered  a  cry,  so  did  Mr.  Grey. 

"Is  it  anything  you  wanted?"  called  out  the  for 
mer,  leaning  over  the  bow  of  the  boat  and  making 
a  dive  at  the  paper  with  his  oar. 

"Yes;  but  if  it's  gone,  it's  gone,"  returned  the 
other  with  some  feeling.  "Careless  of  me,  very  care 
less, — but  I  was  thinking  of — " 

He  stopped ;  he  was  greatly  agitated,  but  he  did 
not  encourage  Sweetwater  in  any  further  attempts 
to  recover  the  lost  memorandum.  Indeed,  such  an 
effort  would  have  been  fruitless ;  the  paper  was 
gone,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  them  but  to 
continue  their  way.  As  they  did  so  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  tell  in  which  breast  chagrin  mounted 
301 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

higher.  Sweetwater  had  lost  a  clue  in  a  thousand, 
and  Mr.  Grey — well,  no  one  knew  what  he  had  lost. 
He  said  nothing  and  plainly  showed  by  his  changed 
manner  that  he  was  in  haste  to  land  now  and  be 
done  with  this  doubtful  adventure. 

When  they  reached  the  boat-house  Mr.  Grey  left 
Sweetwater  to  pay  for  the  boat  and  started  at  once 
for  the  hotel. 

The  man  in  charge  had  the  bow  of  the  boat  in 
hand,  preparatory  to  pulling  it  up  on  the  boards. 
As  Sweetwater  turned  toward  him  he  caught  sight 
of  the  side  of  the  boat,  shining  brightly  in  the 
moonlight.  He  gave  a  start  and,  with  a  muttered 
ejaculation,  darted  forward  and  picked  off  a  small 
piece  of  paper  from  the  dripping  keel.  It  separated 
in  his  hand  and  a  part  of  it  escaped  him,  but  the 
rest  he  managed  to  keep  by  secreting  it  in  his  palm, 
where  it  still  clung,  wet  and  possibly  illegible,  when 
he  came  upon  Mr.  Grey  again  in  the  hotel  office. 

"Here's  your  pay,"  said  that  gentleman,  giving 
him  a  bill.   "I  am  very  glad  I  met  you.   You  have 
served  me  remarkably  well." 
302 


MOONLIGHT— AND    A    CLUE 

There  was  an  anxiety  in  his  face  and  a  hurry  in 
his  movements  which  struck  Sweetwater. 

"Does  this  mean  that  you  are  through  with  me  ?" 
asked  Sweetwater.  "That  you  have  no  further  call 
for  my  services?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  gentleman.  "I'm  going  to 
take  the  train  to-night.  I  find  that  I  still  have 
time." 

Sweetwater  began  to  look  alive. 

Uttering  hasty  thanks,  he  rushed  away  to  his 
own  room  and,  turning  on  the  gas,  peeled  off  the 
morsel  of  paper  which  had  begun  to  dry  on  his 
hand.  If  it  should  prove  to  be  the  blank  end!  If 
the  written  part  were  the  one  which  had  floated  off ! 
Such  disappointments  had  fallen  to  his  lot !  He  was 
not  unused  to  them. 

But  he  was  destined  to  better  luck  this  time.  The 
written  end  had  indeed  disappeared,  but  there  was 
one  word  left,  which  he  had  no  sooner  read  than  he 
gave  a  low  cry  and  prepared  to  leave  for  New  York 
on  the  same  train  as  Mr.  Grey. 

The  word  was — diamond. 
303 


XXI 

GRIZEL  !  GRIZEL ! 

I  indulged  in  some  very  serious  thoughts  after 
Mr.  Grey's  departure.  A  fact  was  borne  in  upon 
me  to  which  I  had  hitherto  closed  my  prejudiced 
eyes,  but  which  I  could  no  longer  ignore,  whatever 
confusion  it  brought  or  however  it  caused  me  to 
change  my  mind  on  a  subject  which  had  formed  one 
of  the  strongest  bases  to  the  argument  by  which 
I  had  sought  to  save  Mr.  Durand.  Miss  Grey 
cherished  no  such  distrust  of  her  father  as  I,  in  my 
ignorance  of  their  relations,  had  imputed  to  her 
in  the  early  hours  of  my  ministrations.  This  you 
have  already  seen  in  my  account  of  their  parting. 

Whatever  his  dread,  fear  or  remorse,  there  was  no 

i 

evidence  that  she   felt  toward  him  anything  but 

love  and  confidence:  but  love  and  confidence  from 

her  to  him  were  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  doubts 

I  had  believed  her  to  have  expressed  in  the  half- 

304 


GRIZEL!    GRIZEL! 

written  note  handed  to  Mrs.  Fairbrother  in  the 
alcove.  Had  I  been  wrong,  then,  in  attributing  this 
scrawl  to  her?  It  began  to  look  so.  Though  for 
bidden  to  allow  her  tc  speak  on  the  one  tabooed  sub 
ject,  I  had  wit  enough  to  know  that  nothing  would 
keep  her  from  it,  if  the  fate  of  Mrs.  Fairbrother 
occupied  any  real  place  in  her  thoughts. 

Yet  when  the  opportunity  was  given  me  one 
morning  of  settling  this  fact  beyond  all  doubt,  I 
own  that  my  main  feeling  was  one  of  dread.  I 
feared  to  see  this  article  in  my  creed  destroyed, 
lest  I  should  lose  confidence  in  the  whole.  Yet  con 
science  bade  me  face  the  matter  boldly,  for  had  I  not 
boasted  to  myself  that  my  one  desire  was  the  truth  ? 

I  allude  to  the  disposition  which  Miss  Grey 
showed  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  to  do  a  lit 
tle  surreptitious  writing.  You  remember  that  a 
specimen  of  her  handwriting  had  been  asked  for  by 
the  inspector,  and  once  had  been  earnestly  desired 
by  myself.  Now  I  seemed  likely  to  have  it,  if  I  did 
not  open  my  eyes  too  widely  to  the  meaning  of  her 
seemingly  chance  requests.  A  little  pencil  dangled 
305 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

at  the  end  of  my  watch-chain.  Would  I  let  her  see 
it,  let  her  hold  it  in  her  hand  for  a  minute?  it  was  so 
like  one  she  used  to  have.  Of  course  I  took  it  off, 
of  course  I  let  her  retain  it  a  little  while  in  her 
hand.  But  the  pencil  was  not  enough.  A  few  min 
utes  later  she  asked  for  a  book  to  look  at — I  some 
times  let  her  look  at  pictures.  But  the  book  bothered 
her — she  would  look  at  it  later;  would  I  give  her 
something  to  mark  the  place — that  postal  over 
there.  I  gave  her  the  postal.  She  put  it  in  the  book 
and  I,  who  understood  her  thoroughly,  wondered 
what  excuse  she  would  now  find  for  sending  me  into 
the  other  room.  She  found  one  very  soon,  and  with 
a  heavily-beating  heart  I  left  her  with  that  pencil 
and  postal.  A  soft  laugh  from  her  lips  drew  me 
back.  She  was  holding  up  the  postal. 

"See!  I  have  written  a  line  to  him!  Oh,  you 
good,  good  nurse,  to  let  me!  You  needn't  look  so 
alarmed.  It  hasn't  hurt  me  one  bit." 

I  knew  that  it  had  not;  knew  that  such  an  ex 
ertion  was  likely  to  be  more  beneficial  than  hurtful 
to  her,  or  I  should  have  found  some  excuse  for  de- 
306 


GRIZEL!    GRIZEL! 

terring  her.  I  endeavored  to  make  my  face  more 
natural.  As  she  seemed  to  want  me  to  take  the  pos 
tal  in  my  hand  I  drew  near  and  took  it. 

"The  address  looks  very  shaky,"  she  laughed. 
"I  think  you  will  have  to  put  it  in  an  envelope." 

I  looked  at  it, — I  could  not  help  it, — her  eye 
was  on  me,  and  I  could  not  even  prepare  my  mind 
for  the  shock  of  seeing  it  like  or  totally  unlike  the 
writing  of  the  warning.  It  was  totally  unlike;  so 
distinctly  unlike  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
attribute  those  lines  to  her  which,  according  to  Mr. 
Durand's  story,  had  caused  Mrs.  Fairbrother  to 
take  off  her  diamond. 

'Why,  why!"  she  cried.  "You  actually  look 
pale.  Are  you  afraid  the  doctor  will  scold  us?  It 
hasn't  hurt  me  nearly  so  much  as  lying  here  and 
knowing  what  he  would  give  for  one  word  from  me." 

"You  are  right,  and  I  am  foolish,"  I  answered 
with  all  the  spirit  left  in  me.  "I  should  be  glad — 
I  am  glad  that  you  have  written  these  words.  I 
will  copy  the  address  on  an  envelope  and  send  it  out 
in  the  first  mail." 

Mf 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured,  giving  me  back  my 
pencil  with  a  sly  smile.  "Now  I  can  sleep.  I  must 
have  roses  in  my  cheeks  when  papa  comes  home." 

And  she  bade  fair  to  have  ruddier  roses  than  my 
self,  for  conscience  was  working  havoc  in  my  breast. 
The  theory  I  had  built  up  with  such  care,  the  the 
ory  I  had  persisted  in  urging  upon  the  inspector  in 
spite  of  his  rebuke,  was  slowly  crumbling  to  pieces 
in  my  mind  with  the  falling  of  one  of  its  main  pil 
lars.  With  the  warning  unaccounted  for  in  the 
manner  I  have  stated,  there  was  a  weakness  in  my 
argument  which  nothing  could  make  good.  How 
could  I  tell  the  inspector,  if  ever  I  should  be  so 
happy  or  so  miserable  as  to  meet  his  eye  again? 
Humiliated  to  the  dust,  I  could  see  no  worth  now 
in  any  of  the  arguments  I  had  advanced.  I  flew 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  and  was  imputing 
perfect  probity  to  Mr.  Grey  and  an  honorable  if 
mysterious  reason  for  all  his  acts,  when  the  door 
opened  and  he  came  in.  Instantly  my  last  doubt 
vanished.  I  had  not  expected  him  to  return  so 
soon. 

308 


GRIZEL!    GRIZEL! 

He  was  glad  to  be  back;  that  I  could  see,  but 
there  was  no  other  gladness  in  him.  I  had  looked 
for  some  change  in  his  manner  and  appearance,  — 
that  is,  if  he  returned  at  all,  —  but  the  one  I  saw 
was  not  a  cheerful  one,  even  after  he  had  ap 
proached  his  daughter's  bedside  and  found  her 
greatly  improved.  She  noticed  this  and  scrutinized 
him  strangely.  He  dropped  his  eyes  and  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  but  was  stopped  by  her  loving  cry  ; 
he  came  back  and  leaned  over  her. 

"What  is  it,  father?  You  are  fatigued,  wor 
ried—" 

"No,  no,  quite  well,"  he  hastily  assured  her. 
"But  you!  are  you  as  well  as  you  seem?" 

"Indeed,  yes.  I  am  gaining  every  day.  See  !  see  ! 
I  shall  soon  be  able  to  sit  up.  Yesterday  I  read  a 
few  words." 

He  started,  with  a  side  glance  at  me  which 
took  in  a  table  near  by  on  which  a  little  book  was 


"Oh,  a  book?" 

"Yes,  and  —  and  Arthur's  letters." 
309 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

The  father  flushed,  lifted  himself,  patted  her 
arm  tenderly  and  hastened  into  another  room. 

Miss  Grey's  eyes  followed  him  longingly,  and  I 
heard  her  give  utterance  to  a  soft  sigh.  A  few 
hours  before,  this  would  have  conveyed  to  my 
suspicious  mind  deep  and  mysterious  meanings; 
but  I  was  seeing  everything  now  in  a  different  light, 
and  I  found  myself  no  longer  inclined  either  to  ex 
aggerate  or  to  misinterpret  these  little  marks  of 
filial  solicitude.  Trying  to  rejoice  over  the  present 
condition  of  my  mind,  I  was  searching  in  the  hidden 
depths  of  my  nature  for  the  patience  of  which  I 
stood  in  such  need,  when  every  thought  and  feeling 
were  again  thrown  into  confusion  by  the  receipt  of 
another  communication  from  the  inspector,  in  which 
he  stated  that  something  had  occurred  to  bring  the 
authorities  round  to  my  way  of  thinking  and  that 
the  test  with  the  stiletto  was  to  be  made  at  once. 

Could  the  irony  of  fate  go  further!   I  dropped 

the  letter  half  read,  querying  if  it  were  my  duty  to 

let  the  inspector  know  of  the  flaw  I  had  discovered 

in  my  own  theory,  before  I  proceeded  with  the  at- 

310 


GRIZEL!    GRIZEL! 

tempt  I  had  suggested  when  I  believed  in  its  com 
plete  soundness.  I  had  not  settled  the  question 
when  I  took  the  letter  up  again.  Re-reading  its 
opening  sentence,  I  was  caught  by  the  word  "some 
thing."  It  was  a  very  indefinite  one,  yet  was  capa 
ble  of  covering  a  large  field.  It  must  cover  a  large 
field,  or  it  could  not  have  produced  such  a  change 
in  the  minds  of  these  men,  conservative  from  prin 
ciple  and  in  this  instance  from  discretion.  I  would 
be  satisfied  with  that  word  something1  and  quit  fur 
ther  thinking.  I  was  weary  of  it.  The  inspector 
was  now  taking  the  initiative,  and  I  was  satisfied 
to  be  his  simple  instrument  and  no  more.  Arrived 
at  this  conclusion,  however,  I  read  the  rest  of  the 
letter.  The  test  was  to  go  on,  but  under  different 
conditions.  It  was  no  longer  to  be  made  at  my 
own  discretion  and  in  the  up-stairs  room ;  it  was  to 
be  made  at  luncheon  hour  and  in  Mr.  Grey's  private 
dining-room,  where,  if  by  any  chance  Mr.  Grey 
found  himself  outraged  by  the  placing  of  this  no 
torious  weapon  beside  his  plate,  the  blame  could  be 
laid  on  the  waiter,  who,  mistaking  his  directions, 
311 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

had  placed  it  on  Mr.  Grey's  table  when  it  was  meant 
for  Inspector  DalzelPs,  who  was  lunching  in  the 
adjoining  room.  It  was  I,  however,  who  was  to  do 
the  placing.  With  what  precautions  and  under 
what  circumstances  will  presently  appear. 

Fortunately,  the  hour  set  was  very  near.  Other 
wise  I  do  not  know  how  I  could  have  endured  the 
continued  strain  of  gazing  on  my  patient's  sweet 
face,  looking  up  at  me  from  her  pillow,  with  a 
shadow  over  its  beauty  which  had  not  been  there 
before  her  father's  return. 

And  that  father!  I  could  hear  him  pacing  the 
library  floor  with  a  restlessness  that  struck  me  as 
being  strangely  akin  to  my  own  inward  anguish  of 
impatience  and  doubt.  What  was  he  dreading? 
What  was  it  I  had  seen  darkening  his  face  and  dis 
turbing  his  manner,  when  from  time  to  time  he 
pushed  open  the  communicating  door  and  cast  an 
anxious  glance  our  way,  only  to  withdraw  again 
without  uttering  a  word.  Did  he  realize  that  a  crisis 
was  approaching,  that  danger  menaced  him,  and 
from  me?  No,  not  the  latter,  for  his  glance  never 
312 


GRIZEL!   GRIZEL! 

strayed  to  me,  but  rested  solely  on  his  daughter.  I 
was,  therefore,  not  connected  with  the  disturbance  in 
his  thoughts.  As  far  as  that  was  concerned  I  could 
proceed  fearlessly;  I  had  not  him  to  dread,  only 
the  event.  That  I  did  dread,  as  any  one  must  who 
saw  Miss  Grey's  face  during  these  painful  moments 
and  heard  that  restless  tramp  in  the  room  beyond. 

At  last  the  hour  struck, — the  hour  at  which  Mr. 
Grey  always  descended  to  lunch.  He  was  punctual 
ity  itself,  and  under  ordinary  circumstances  I  could 
depend  upon  his  leaving  the  room  within  five  min 
utes  of  the  stroke  of  one.  But  would  he  be  as 
prompt  to-day  ?  Was  he  in  the  mood  for  luncheon  ? 
Would  he  go  down  stairs  at  all  ?  Yes,  for  the  tramp, 
tramp  stopped;  I  heard  him  approaching  his 
daughter's  door  for  a  last  look  in  and  managed  to 
escape  just  in  time  to  procure  what  I  wanted  and 
reach  the  room  below  before  he  came. 

My  opportunity  was  short,  but  I  had  time  to  see 
two  things :  first,  that  the  location  of  his  seat  had 
been  changed  so  that  his  back  was  to  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  adjoining  room;  secondly,  that  this 
313 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

door  was  ajar.  The  usual  waiter  was  in  the  room 
and  showed  no  surprise  at  my  appearance,  I  hav 
ing  been  careful  to  have  it  understood  that  hereafter 
Miss  Grey's  appetite  was  to  be  encouraged  by  hav 
ing  her  soup  served  from  her  father's  table  by  her 
father's  own  hands,  and  that  I  should  be  there  to  re 
ceive  it. 

"Mr.  Grey  is  coming,"  said  I,  approaching  the 
waiter  and  handing  him  the  stiletto  loosely  wrapped 
in  tissue  paper.  "Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  place 
this  at  his  plate,  just  as  it  is?  A  man  gave  it  to  me 
for  Mr.  Grey ;  said  we  were  to  place  it  there." 

The  waiter,  suspecting  nothing,  did  as  he  was 
bidden,  and  I  had  hardly  time  to  catch  up  the  tray 
laden  with  dishes,  which  I  saw  awaiting  me  on  a 
side-table,  when  Mr.  Grey  came  in  and  was  ushered 
to  his  seat. 

The  soup  was  not  there,  but  I  advanced  with  my 
tray  and  stood  waiting ;  not  too  near,  lest  the  violent 
beating  of  my  heart  should  betray  me.  As  I  did  so 
the  waiter  disappeared  and  the  door  behind  us 
opened.  Though  Mr.  Grey's  eye  had  fallen  on  the 
314, 


GRIZEL!    GRIZEL! 

package,  and  I  saw  him  start,  I  darted  one  glance 
at  the  room  thus  disclosed,  and  saw  that  it  held  two 
tables.  At  one,  the  inspector  and  some  one  I  did  not 
know  sat  eating;  at  the  other  a  man  alone,  whose 
back  was  to  us  all,  and  who  seemingly  was  entirely 
disconnected  with  the  interests  of  this  tragic  mo 
ment.  All  this  I  saw  in  an  instant, — the  next  my 
eyes  were  fixed  on  Mr.  Grey's  face. 

He  had  reached  out  his  hand  to  the  package  and 
his  features  showed  an  emotion  I  hardly  under 
stood. 

"What's  this?"  he  murmured,  feeling  it  with 
wonder,  I  should  almost  say  anger.  Suddenly  he 
pulled  off  the  wrapper,  and  my  heart  stood  still  in 
expectancy.  If  he  quailed — and  how  could  he  help 
doing  so  if  guilty — what  a  doubt  would  be  removed 
from  my  own  breast,  what  an  impediment  from  po 
lice  action !  But  he  did  not  quail ;  he  simply  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  intense  anger,  and  laid  the 
weapon  back  on  the  table  without  even  taking  the 
precaution  of  covering  it  up.  I  think  he  muttered 
an  oath,  but  there  was  no  fear  in  it,  not  a  particle. 
315 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

My  disappointment  was  so  great,  my  humiliation 
so  unbounded,  that,  forgetting  myself  in  my  dis 
may,  I  staggered  back  and  let  the  tray  with  all  its 
contents  slip  from  my  hands.  The  crash  that  fol 
lowed  stopped  Mr.  Grey  in  the  act  of  rising.  But  it 
did  something  more.  It  awoke  a  cry  from  the  ad 
joining  room  which  I  shall  never  forget.  While  we 
both  started  and  turned  to  see  from  whom  this 
grievous  sound  had  sprung,  a  man  came  stumbling 
toward  us  with  his  hands  before  his  eyes  and  this 
name  wild  on  his  lips : 

"Grizel!  Grizel!" 

Mrs.  Fairbrother's  name !  and  the  man — 


316 


XXII 

GUILT 

Was  he  Wellgood?  Sears?  Who?  A  lover  of 
the  woman  certainly;  that  was  borne  in  on  us  by 
the  passion  of  his  cry : 

"Grizel!  Grizel!" 

But  how  here?  and  why  such  fury  in  Mr.  Grey's 
face  and  such  amazement  in  that  of  the  inspector? 

This  question  was  not  to  be  answered  offhand. 
Mr.  Grey,  advancing,  laid  a  finger  on  the  man's 
shoulder.  "Come,"  said  he,  "we  will  have  our  con 
versation  in  another  room." 

The  man,  who,  in  dress  and  appearance  looked 
oddly  out  of  place  in  those  gorgeous  rooms,  shook 
off  the  stupor  into  which  he  had  fallen  and  started 
to  follow  the  Englishman.  A  waiter  crossed  their 
track  with  the  soup  for  our  table.  Mr.  Grey  mo 
tioned  him  aside. 

317 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

"Take  that  back,"  said  he.  "I  have  some  busi 
ness  to  transact  with  this  gentleman  before  I  eat. 
I'll  ring  when  I  want  you." 

Then  they  entered  where  I  was.  As  the  door 
closed  I  caught  sight  of  the  inspector's  face  turned 
earnestly  toward  me.  In  his  eyes  I  read  my  duty, 
and  girded  up  my  heart,  as  it  were,  to  meet- — what  ? 
In  that  moment  it  was  impossible  to  tell. 

The  next  enlightened  me.  With  a  total  ignor 
ing  of  my  presence,  due  probably  to  his  great  ex 
citement,  Mr.  Grey  turned  on  his  companion  the 
moment  he  had  closed  the  door  and,  seizing  him  by 
the  collar,  cried: 

"Fairbrother,  you  villain,  why  have  you  called 
on  your  wife  like  this?  Are  you  murderer  as  well 
as  thief?" 

Fairbrother!  this  man?  Then  who  was  he  who 
was  being  nursed  back  to  life  on  the  mountains  be 
yond  Santa  Fe?  Sears?  Anything  seemed  pos 
sible  in  that  moment. 

Meanwhile,  dropping  his  hand  from  the  other's 
throat  as  suddenly  as  he  had  seized  it,  Mr.  Grey 
S18 


GUILT 

caught  up  the  stiletto  from  the  table  where  he  had 
flung  it,  crying :  "Do  you  recognize  this  ?" 

Ah,  then  I  saw  guilt ! 

In  a  silence  worse  than  any  cry,  this  so-called 
husband  of  the  murdered  woman,  the  man  on  whom 
no  suspicion  had  fallen,  the  man  whom  all  had 
thought  a  thousand  miles  away  at  the  time  of  the 
deed,  stared  at  the  weapon  thrust  under  his  eyes, 
while  over  his  face  passed  all  those  expressions  of 
fear,  abhorrence  and  detected  guilt  which,  fool  that 
I  was,  I  had  expected  to  see  reflected  in  response 
to  the  same  test  in  Mr.  Grey's  equable  countenance. 

The  surprise  and  wonder  of  it  held  me  chained  to 
the  spot.  I  was  in  a  state  of  stupefaction,  so  that 
I  scarcely  noted  the  broken  fragments  at  my  feet. 
But  the  intruder  noticed  them.  Wrenching  his 
gaze  from  the  stiletto  which  Mr.  Grey  continued  to 
hold  out,  he  pointed  to  the  broken  cup  and  saucer, 
muttering : 

"That  is  what  startled  me  into  this  betrayal — 
the  noise  of  breaking  china.  I  can  not  bear  it 
since — " 

319 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

He  stopped,  bit  his  lip  and  looked  around  him 
with  an  air  of  sudden  bravado. 

"Since  you  dropped  the  cups  at  your  wife's  feet 
in  Mr.  Ramsdell's  alcove,"  finished  Mr.  Grey  with 
admirable  self-possession. 

"I  see  that  explanations  from  myself  are  not  in 
order,"  was  the  grim  retort,  launched  with  the  bit 
terest  sarcasm.  Then  as  the  full  weight  of  his  posi 
tion  crushed  in  on  him,  his  face  assumed  an  aspect 
startling  to  my  unaccustomed  eyes,  and,  thrusting 
his  hand  into  his  pocket  he  drew  forth  a  small  box 
which  he  placed  in  Mr.  Grey's  hands. 

"The  Great  Mogul,"  he  declared  simply. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  this  diamond  so 
named. 

Without  a  word  that  gentleman  opened  the  box, 
took  one  look  at  the  contents,  assumed  a  satisfied 
air,  and  carefully  deposited  the  recovered  gem  in 
his  own  pocket.  As  his  eyes  returned  to  the  man 
before  him,  all  the  passion  of  the  latter  burst  forth. 

"It  was  not  for  that  I  killed  her !"  cried  he.  "It 
was  because  she  defied  me  and  flaunted  her  dis- 


GUILT 

obedience  in  my  very  face.  I  would  do  it  again, 
yet—" 

Here  his  voice  broke  and  it  was  in  a  different  tone 
and  with  a  total  change  of  manner  he  added :  "You 
stand  appalled  at  my  depravity.  You  have  not 
lived  my  life."  Then  quickly  and  with  a  touch  of 
sullenness:  "You  suspected  me  because  of  the 
stiletto.  It  was  a  mistake,  using  that  stiletto. 
Otherwise,  the  plan  was  good.  I  doubt  if  you  know 
now  how  I  found  my  way  into  the  alcove,  possibly 
under  your  very  eyes ;  certainly,  under  the  eyes  of 
many  who  knew  me." 

"I  do  not.  It  is  enough  that  you  entered  it ;  that 
you  confess  your  guilt." 

Here  Mr.  Grey  stretched  his  hand  toward  the 
electric  button. 

"No,  it  is  not  enough."  The  tone  was  fierce,  au 
thoritative.  "Do  not  ring  the  bell,  not  yet.  I  have 
a  fancy  to  tell  you  how  I  managed  that  little  affair." 

Glancing  about,  he  caught  up  from  a  near-by  ta 
ble  a  small  brass  tray.  Emptying  it  of  its  contents, 
he  turned  on  us  with  drawn-down  features  and  an 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

obsequious  air  so  opposed  to  his  natural  manner 
that  it  was  as  if  another  man  stood  before  us. 

"Pardon  my  black  tie,"  he  muttered,  holding  out 
the  tray  toward  Mr.  Grey. 

Wellgood! 

The  room  turned  with  me.  It  was  he,  then,  the 
great  financier,  the  multimillionaire,  the  husband 
of  the  magnificent  Grizel,  who  had  entered  Mr. 
Ramsdell's  house  as  a  waiter ! 

Mr.  Grey  did  not  show  surprise,  but  he  made  a 
gesture,  when  instantly  the  tray  was  thrown  aside 
and  the  man  resumed  his  ordinary  aspect. 

".I  see  you  understand  me,"  he  cried.  "I  who 
have  played  host  at  many  a  ball,  passed  myself  off 
that  night  as  one  of  the  waiters.  I  came  and  went 
and  no  one  noticed  me.  It  is  such  a  natural  sight 
to  see  a  waiter  passing  ices  that  my  going  in  and 
out  of  the  alcove  did  not  attract  the  least  attention. 
I  never  look  at  waiters  when  I  attend  balls.  I  never 
look  higher  than  their  trays.  No  one  looked  at  me 
higher  than  my  tray.  I  held  the  stiletto  under  the 
tray  and  when  I  struck  her  she  threw  up  her  hands 


"I  held  the  stiletto  under  the  tray."     Page  322 


GUILT 

and  they  hit  the  tray  and  the  cups  fell.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  bear  the  sound  of  breaking  china 
since.  I  loved  her — 

A  gasp  and  he  recovered  himself. 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there,"  he  muttered. 
"You  summoned  me  under  threat  to  present  myself 
at  your  door  to-day.  I  have  done  so.  I  meant  to 
restore  you  your  diamond,  simply.  It  has  become 
worthless  to  me.  But  fate  exacted  more.  Surprise 
forced  my  secret  from  me.  That  young  lady  with 
her  damnable  awkwardness  has  put  my  head  in  a 
noose.  But  do  not  think  to  hold  it  there.  I  did 
not  risk  this  interview  without  precautions,  I  as 
sure  you,  and  when  I  leave  this  hotel  it  will  be  as 
a  free  man." 

With  one  of  his  rapid  changes,  wonderful  and 
inexplicable  to  me  at  the  moment,  he  turned  toward 
me  with  a  bow,  saying  courteously  enough : 

"We  will  excuse  the  young  lady." 

Next  moment  the  barrel  of  a  pistol  gleamed  in 
his  hand. 

The  moment  was  critical.  Mr.  Grey  stood  di- 
323 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

rectly  in  the  line  of  fire,  and  the  audacious  man 
who  thus  held  him  at  his  mercy  was  scarcely  a  foot 
from  the  door  leading  into  the  hall.  Marking  the 
desperation  of  his  look  and  the  steadiness  of  his 
finger  on  the  trigger,  I  expected  to  see  Mr.  Grey 
recoil  and  the  man  escape.  But  Mr.  Grey  held  his 
own,  though  he  made  no  move,  and  did  not  venture 
to  speak.  Nerved  by  his  courage,  I  summoned  up 
all  my  own.  This  man  must  not  escape,  nor  must 
Mr.  Grey  suffer.  The  pistol  directed  against  him 
must  be  diverted  to  myself.  Such  amends  were  due 
one  whose  good  name  I  had  so  deeply  if  secretly 
insulted.  I  had  but  to  scream,  to  call  out  for  the 
inspector,  but  a  remembrance  of  the  necessity  we 
were  now  under  of  preserving  our  secret,  of  keep 
ing  from  Mr.  Grey  the  fact  that  he  had  been  under 
surveillance,  was  even  at  that  moment  surrounded 
by  the  police,  deterred  me,  and  I  threw  myself  to 
ward  the  bell  instead,  crying  out  that  I  would  raise 
the  house  if  he  moved,  and  laid  my  finger  on  the 
button. 

The  pistol  swerved  my  way.    The  face  above  it 
324 


GUILT 

smiled.  I  watched  that  smile.  Before  it  broadened 
to  its  full  extent,  I  pressed  the  button. 

Fairbrother  stared,  dropped  his  pistol,  and  burst 
forth  with  these  two  words : 

"Brave  girl!" 

The  tone  I  can  never  convey. 

Then  he  made  for  the  door. 

As  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob,  he  called  back : 

"I  have  been  in  worse  straits  than  this !" 

But  he  never  had;  when  he  opened  the  door,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  inspector. 


325 


XXIII 

THE  GREAT  MOGUL 

Later,  it  was  all  explained.  Mr.  Grey,  looking 
like  another  man,  came  into  the  room  where  I  was 
endeavoring  to  soothe  his  startled  daughter  and 
devour  in  secret  my  own  joy.  Taking  the  sweet 
girl  in  his  arms,  he  said,  with  a  calm  ignoring  of 
my  presence,  at  which  I  secretly  smiled : 

"This  is  the  happiest  moment  of  my  existence, 
Helen.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  recovered  you  from  the 
brink  of  the  grave." 

"Me  ?  Why,  I  have  never  been  so  ill  as  that." 

"I  know;  but  I  have  felt  as  if  you  were  doomed 
ever  since  I  heard,  or  thought  I  heard,  in  this  city, 
and  under  no  ordinary  circumstances,  the  peculiar 
cry  which  haunts  our  house  on  the  eve  of  any  great 
misfortune.  I  shall  not  apologize  for  my  fears ;  you 
know  that  I  have  good  cause  for  them,  but  to-day, 
only  to-day,  I  have  heard  from  the  lips  of  the  most 
326 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

arrant  knave  I  have  ever  known,  that  this  cry 
sprang  from  himself  with  intent  to  deceive  me.  He 
knew  my  weakness ;  knew  the  cry ;  he  was  in  Dar 
lington  Manor  when  Cecilia  died;  and,  wishing  to 
startle  me  into  dropping  something  which  I  held, 
made  use  of  his  ventriloquial  powers  (he  had  been 
a  mountebank  once,  poor  wretch!)  and  with  such 
effect,  that  I  have  not  been  a  happy  man  since,  in 
spite  of  your  daily  improvement  and  continued 
promise  of  recovery.  But  I  am  happy  now,  relieved 
and  joyful;  and  this  miserable  being, — would  you 
like  to  hear  his  story  ?  Are  you  strong  enough  for 
anything  so  tragic?  He  is  a  thief  and  a  murderer, 
but  he  has  feelings,  and  his  life  has  been  a  curious 
one,  and  strangely  interwoven  with  ours.  Do  you 
care  to  hear  about  it  ?  He  is  the  man  who  stole  our 
diamond." 

My  patient  uttered  a  little  cry. 

"Oh,  tell  me,"  she  entreated,  excited,  but  not  un- 
healthf ully ;  while  I  was  in  an  anguish  of  curiosity 
I  could  with  difficulty  conceal. 

Mr.  Grey  turned  with  courtesy  toward  me  and 

S27 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

asked  if  a  few  family  details  would  bore  me.  I 
smiled  and  assured  him  to  the  contrary.  At  which 
he  settled  himself  in  the  chair  he  liked  best  and  be 
gan  a  tale  which  I  will  permit  myself  to  present  to 
you  complete  and  from  other  points  of  view  than  his 
own. 

Some  five  years  before,  one  of  the  great  dia 
monds  of  the  world  was  offered  for  sale  in  an  East 
ern  market.  Mr.  Grey,  who  stopped  at  no  expense 
in  the  gratification  of  his  taste  in  this  direction, 
immediately  sent  his  agent  to  Egypt  to  examine 
this  stone.  If  the  agent  discovered  it  to  be  all  that 
was  claimed  for  it,  and  within  the  reach  of  a 
wealthy  commoner's  purse,  he  was  to  buy  it.  Upon 
inspection,  it  was  found  to  be  all  that  was  claimed, 
with  one  exception.  In  the  center  of  one  of  the 
facets  was  a  flaw,  but,  as  this  was  considered  to 
mark  the  diamond,  and  rather  add  to  than  detract 
from  its  value  as  a  traditional  stone  with  many 
historical  associations,  it  was  finally  purchased  by 
Mr.  Grey  and  placed  among  his  treasures  in  his 
manor-house  in  Kent.  Never  a  suspicious  man,  he 
328 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

took  delight  in  exhibiting  this  acquisition  to  such 
of  his  friends  and  acquaintances  as  were  likely  to 
feel  any  interest  in  it,  and  it  was  not  an  uncommon 
thing  for  him  to  allow  it  to  pass  from  hand  to  hand 
while  he  pottered  over  his  other  treasures  and  dis 
played  this  and  that  to  such  as  had  no  eyes  for  the 
diamond. 

It  was  after  one  such  occasion  that  he  found,  on 
taking  the  stone  in  his  hand  to  replace  it  in  the 
safe  he  had  had  built  for  it  in  one  of  his  cabinets, 
that  it  did  not  strike  his  eye  with  its  usual  force 
and  brilliancy,  and,  on  examining  it  closely,  he  dis 
covered  the  absence  of  the  telltale  flaw.  Struck 
with  dismay,  he  submitted  it  to  a  still  more  rigid 
inspection,  when  he  found  that  what  he  held  was 
not  even  a  diamond,  but  a  worthless  bit  of  glass, 
which  had  been  substituted  by  some  cunning  knave 
for  his  invaluable  gem. 

For  the  moment  his  humiliation  almost  equaled 

his  sense  of  loss;  he  had  been  so  often  warned  of 

the  danger  he  ran  in  letting  so  priceless  an  object 

pass  around  under  all  eyes  but  his  own.    His  wife 

329 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

and  friends  had  prophesied  some  such  loss  as  this, 
not  once,  but  many  times,  and  he  had  always 
laughed  at  their  fears,  saying  that  he  knew  his 
friends,  and  there  was  not  a  scamp  amongst  them. 
But  now  he  saw  it  proved  that  even  the  intuition 
of  a  man  well-versed  in  human  nature  is  not  always 
infallible,  and,  ashamed  of  his  past  laxness  and 
more  ashamed  yet  of  the  doubts  which  this  ex 
perience  called  up  in  regard  to  all  his  friends,  he 
shut  up  the  false  stone  with  his  usual  care  and 
buried  his  loss  in  his  own  bosom,  till  he  could  sift 
his  impressions  and  recall  with  some  degree  of  prob 
ability  the  circumstances  under  which  this  exchange 
could  have  been  made. 

It  had  not  been  made  that  evening.  Of  this  he 
was  positive.  The  only  persons  present  on  this 
occasion  were  friends  of  such  standing  and  repute 
that  suspicion  in  their  regard  was  simply  mon 
strous.  When  and  to  whom,  then,  had  he  shown  the 
diamond  last?  Alas,  it  had  been  a  long  month  since 
he  had  shown  the  jewel.  Cecilia,  his  youngest 
daughter,  had  died  in  the  interim;  therefore  his 
330 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

mind  had  not  been  on  jewels.  A  month!  time  for 
his  precious  diamond  to  have  been  carried  back  to 
the  East !  Time  for  it  to  have  been  recut !  Surely 
it  was  lost  to  him  for  ever,  unless  he  could  immedi 
ately  locate  the  person  who  had  robbed  him  of  it. 

But  this  promised  difficulties.  He  could  not  re 
member  just  what  persons  he  had  entertained  on 
that  especial  day  in  his  little  hall  of  cabinets,  and, 
when  he  did  succeed  in  getting  a  list  of  them  from 
his  butler,  he  was  by  no  means  sure  that  it  included 
the  full  number  of  his  guests.  His  own  memory 
was  execrable,  and,  in  short,  he  had  but  few  facts 
to  offer  to  the  discreet  agent  sent  up  from  Scotland 
Yard  one  morning  to  hear  his  complaint  and  act 
secretly  in  his  interests.  He  could  give  him  carte 
blanche  to  carry  on  his  inquiries  in  the  diamond 
market,  but  little  else.  And  while  this  seemed  to 
satisfy  the  agent,  it  did  not  lead  to  any  gratifying 
result  to  himself,  and  he  had  thoroughly  made  up 
his  mind  to  swallow  his  loss  and  say  nothing  about 
it,  when  one  day  a  young  cousin  of  his,  living  in 
great  style  in  an  adjoining  county,  informed  him 
331 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

that  in  some  mysterious  way  he  had  lost  from  his 
collection  of  arms  a  unique  and  highly-prized  sti 
letto  of  Italian  workmanship. 

Startled  by  this  coincidence,  Mr.  Grey  ventured 
upon  a  question  or  two,  which  led  to  his  cousin's 
confiding  to  him  the  fact  that  this  article  had  dis 
appeared  after  a  large  supper  given  by  him  to  a 
number  of  friends  and  gentlemen  from  London. 
This  piece  of  knowledge,  still  further  coinciding 
with  his  own  experience,  caused  Mr.  Grey  to  ask 
for  a  list  of  his  guests,  in  the  hope  of  finding 
among  them  one  who  had  been  in  his  own  house. 

His  cousin,  quite  unsuspicious  of  the  motives 
underlying  this  request,  hastened  to  write  out  this 
list,  and  together  they  pored  over  the  names,  cross 
ing  out  such  as.  were  absolutely  above  suspicion. 
When  they  had  reached  the  end  of  the  list,  but  two 
names  remained  uncrossed.  One  was  that  of  a  rat 
tle-pated  youth  who  had  come  in  the  wake  of  a 
highly  reputed  connection  of  theirs,  and  the  other 
that  of  an  American  tourist  who  gave  all  the  evi 
dences  of  great  wealth  and  had  presented  letters  tQ 
332 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

leading  men  in  London  which  had  insured  him  at 
tentions  not  usually  accorded  to  foreigners.  This 
man's  name  was  Fairbrother,  and,  the  moment  Mr. 
Grey  heard  it,  he  recalled  the  fact  that  an  Amer 
ican  with  a  peculiar  name,  but  with  a  reputation 
for  wealth,  had  been  among  his  guests  on  the  sus 
pected  evening. 

Hiding  the  effect  produced  upon  him  by  this  dis 
covery,  he  placed  his  finger  on  this  name  and  begged 
his  cousin  to  look  up  its  owner's  antecedents  and 
present  reputation  in  America;  but,  not  content 
with  this,  he  sent  his  own  agent  over  to  New  York 
— whither,  as  he  soon  learned,  this  gentleman  had 
returned.  The  result  was  an  apparent  vindication 
of  the  suspected  American.  He  was  found  to  be  a 
well-known  citizen  of  the  great  metropolis,  moving 
in  the  highest  circles  and  with  a  reputation  for 
wealth  won  by  an  extraordinary  business  instinct. 

To  be  sure,  he  had  not  always  enjoyed  these  dis 
tinctions.  Like  many  another  self-made  man,  he 
had  risen  from  a  menial  position  in  a  Western  min 
ing  camp,  to  be  the  owner  of  a  mine  himself,  and  so 
333 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

up  through  the  various  gradations  of  a  successful 
life  to  a  position  among  the  foremost  business  men 
of  New  York.  In  all  these  changes  he  had  main 
tained  a  name  for  honest,  if  not  generous,  dealing. 
He  lived  in  great  style,  had  married  and  was  known 
to  have  but  one  extravagant  fancy.  This  was  for 
the  unique  and  curious  in  art, — a  taste  which,  if 
report  spoke  true,  cost  him  many  thousands  each 
year. 

This  last  was  the  only  clause  in  the  report  which 
pointed  in  any  way  toward  this  man  being  the 
possible  abstractor  of  the  Great  Mogul,  as  Mr. 
Grey's  famous  diamond  was  called,  and  the  latter 
was  too  just  a  man  and  too  much  of  a  fancier  in 
this  line  himself  to  let  a  fact  of  this  kind  weigh 
against  the  favorable  nature  of  the  rest.  So  he  re 
called  his  agent,  double-locked  his  cabinets  and 
continued  to  confine  his  display  of  valuables  to  ar 
ticles  which  did  not  suggest  jewels.  Thus  three 
years  passed,  when  one  day  he  heard  mention  made 
of  a  wonderful  diamond  which  had  been  seen  in 
New  York.  From  its  description  he  gathered  that 
334 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

it  must  be  the  one  surreptitiously  abstracted  from 
his  cabinet,  and  when,  after  some  careful  inquiries, 
he  learned  that  the  name  of  its  possessor  was  Fair- 
brother,  he  awoke  to  his  old  suspicions  and  deter 
mined  to  probe  this  matter  to  the  bottom.  But 
secretly.  He  still  had  too  much  consideration  to 
attack  a  man  in  high  position  without  full  proof. 

Knowing  of  no  one  he  could  trust  with  so  deli 
cate  an  inquiry  as  this  had  now  become,  he  decided 
to  undertake  it  himself,  and  for  this  purpose  em 
braced  the  first  opportunity  to  cross  the  water.  He 
took  his  daughter  with  him  because  he  had  resolved 
never  to  let  his  one  remaining  child  out  of  his  sight. 
But  she  knew  nothing  of  his  plans  or  reason  for 
travel.  No  one  did.  Indeed,  only  his  lawyer  and 
the  police  were  aware  of  the  loss  of  his  diamond. 

His  first  surprise  on  landing  was  to  learn  that 
Mr.  Fairbrother,  of  whose  marriage  he  had  heard, 
had  quarreled  with  his  wife  and  that,  in  the  separa 
tion  which  had  occurred,  the  diamond  had  fallen  to 
her  share  and  was  consequently  in  her  possession  at 
the  present  moment. 

335 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

This  changed  matters,  and  Mr.  Grey's  only 
thought  now  was  to  surprise  her  with  the  diamond 
on  her  person  and  by  one  glance  assure  himself 
that  it  was  indeed  the  Great  Mogul.  Since  Mrs. 
Fairbrother  was  reported  to  be  a  beautiful  woman 
and  a  great  society  belle,  he  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  meet  her  publicly,  and  that  very  soon. 
He  therefore  accepted  invitations  and  attended 
theaters  and  balls,  though  his  daughter  had  suf 
fered  from  her  voyage  and  was  not  able  to  accom 
pany  him.  But  alas!  he  soon  learned  that  Mrs. 
Fairbrother  was  never  seen  with  her  diamond 
and,  one  evening  after  an  introduction  at  the  opera, 
that  she  never  talked  about  it.  So  there  he  was, 
balked  on  the  very  threshold  of  his  enterprise,  and, 
recognizing  the  fact,  was  preparing  to  take  his 
now  seriously  ailing  daughter  south,  when  he  re 
ceived  an  invitation  to  a  ball  of  such  a  select  char 
acter  that  he  decided  to  remain  for  it,  in  the  hope 
that  Mrs.  Fairbrother  would  be  tempted  to  put  on 
all  her  splendor  for  so  magnificent  a  function  arid 
thus  gratify  him  with  a  sight  of  his  own  diamond. 
330 


THE  GREAT  MOGUL 

During  the  days  that  intervened  he  saw  her  several 
times  and  very  soon  decided  that,  in  spite  of  her 
reticence  in  regard  to  this  gem,  she  was  not  suffi 
ciently  in  her  husband's  confidence  to  know  the 
secret  of  its  real  ownership.  This  encouraged  him 
to  attempt  piquing  her  into  wearing  the  diamond 
on  this  occasion.  He  talked  of  precious  stones  and 
finally  of  his  own,  declaring  that  he  had  a  con 
noisseur's  eye  for  a  fine  diamond,  but  had  seen  none 
as  yet  in  America  to  compete  with  a  specimen  or 
two  he  had  in  his  own  cabinets.  Her  eye  flashed  at 
this  and,  though  she  said  nothing,  he  felt  sure  that 
her  presence  at  Mr.  Ramsdell's  house  would  be  en 
livened  by  her  great  jewel. 

So  much  for  Mr.  Grey's  attitude  in  this  matter 
up  to  the  night  of  the  ball.  It  is  interesting  enough, 
but  that  of  Abner  Fairbrother  is  more  interesting 
still  and  much  more  serious. 

His  was  indeed  the  hand  which  had  abstracted 

the  diamond  from  Mr.  Grey's  collection.    Under 

ordinary   conditions  he  was  an  honest  man.    He 

prized  his  good  name  and  would  not  willingly  risk 

337 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

it,  but  he  had  little  real  conscience,  and  once  his 
passions  were  aroused  nothing  short  of  the  object 
desired  would  content  him.  At  once  forceful  and 
subtle,  he  had  at  his  command  infinite  resources 
which  his  wandering  and  eventful  life  had  height 
ened  almost  to  the  point  of  genius.  He  saw  this 
stone,  and  at  once  felt  an  inordinate  desire  to  pos 
sess  it.  He  had  coveted  other  men's  treasures  before, 
but  not  as  he  coveted  this.  What  had  been  longing 
in  other  cases  was  mania  in  this.  There  was  a  wom 
an  in  America  whom  he  loved.  She  was  beautiful 
and  she  was  splendor-loving.  To  see  her  with  this 
glory  on  her  breast  would  be  worth  almost  any  risk 
which  his  imagination  could  picture  at  the  moment. 
Before  the  diamond  had  left  his  hand  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  have  it  for  his  own.  He  knew  that 
it  could  not  be  bought,  so  he  set  about  obtaining 
it  by  an  act  he  did  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  to 
himself  as  criminal.  But  he  did  not  act  without  pre 
cautions.  Having  a  keen  eye  and  a  proper  sense 
of  size  and  color,  he  carried  away  from  his  first 
view  of  it  a  true  image  of  the  stone,  and  when  he 
338 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

was  next  admitted  to  Mr.  Grey's  cabinet  room  he 
had  provided  the  means  for  deceiving  the  owner 
whose  character  he  had  sounded. 

He  might  have  failed  in  his  daring  attempt  if 
he  had  not  been  favored  by  a  circumstance  no  one 
could  have  foreseen.  A  daughter  of  the  house, 
Cecilia  by  name,  lay  critically  ill  at  the  time,  and 
Mr.  Grey's  attention  was  more  or  less  distracted. 
Still  the  probabilities  are  that  he  would  have  no 
ticed  something  amiss  with  the  stone  when  he  came 
to  restore  it  to  its  place,  if,  just  as  he  took  it  in  his 
hand,  there  had  not  risen  in  the  air  outside  a  weird 
and  wailing  cry  which  at  once  seized  upon  the  im 
agination  of  the  dozen  gentlemen  present,  and  so 
nearly  prostrated  their  host  that  he  thrust  the  box 
he  held  unopened  into  the  safe  and  fell  upon  his 
knees,  a  totally  unnerved  man,  crying : 

"The  banshee!  the  banshee!  My  daughter  will 
die!" 

Another  hand  than  his  locked  the  safe  and 
dropped  the  key  into  the  distracted  father's  pocket. 

Thus  a  superhuman  daring  conjoined  with  a 
339 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

special  intervention  of  fate  had  made  the  enterprise 
a  successful  one;  and  Fairbrother,  believing  more 
than  ever  in  his  star,  carried  this  invaluable  jewel 
back  with  him  to  New  York.  The  stiletto — well, 
the  taking  of  that  was  a  folly,  for  which  he  had 
never  ceased  to  blush.  He  had  not  stolen  it;  he 
would  not  steal  so  inconsiderable  an  object.  He  had 
merely  put  it  in  his  pocket  when  he  saw  it  for 
gotten,  passed  over,  given  to  him,  as  it  were.  That 
the  risk,  contrary  to  that  involved  in  the  taking  of 
the  diamond,  was  far  in  excess  of  the  gratification 
obtained,  he  realized  almost  immediately,  but,  hav 
ing  made  the  break,  and  acquired  the  curio,  he 
spared  himself  all  further  thought  of  the  conse 
quences,  and  presently  resumed  his  old  life  in  New 
York,  none  the  worse,  to  all  appearances,  for  these 
escapades  from  virtue  and  his  usual  course  of  fair 
and  open  dealing. 

But  he  was  soon  the  worse  from  jealousy  of  the 

wife  which  his  new  possession  had  possibly  won 

for  him.    She  had  answered  all  his  expectations  as 

mistress  of  his  home  and  the  exponent  of  his  wealth ; 

340 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

and  for  a  year,  nay,  for  two,  he  had  been  perfectly 
happy.  Indeed,  he  had  been  more  than  that;  he 
had  been  triumphant,  especially  on  that  memor 
able  evening  when,  after  a  cautious  delay  of  months, 
he  had  dared  to  pin  that  unapproachable  sparkler 
to  her  breast  and  present  her  thus  bedecked  to  the 
smart  set — her  whom  his  talents,  and  especially  his 
far-reaching  business  talents,  had  made  his  own. 

Recalling  the  old  days  of  barter  and  sale  across 
the  pine  counter  in  Colorado,  he  felt  that  his  star 
rode  high,  and  for  a  time  was  satisfied  with  his 
wife's  magnificence  and  the  prestige  she  gave  his 
establishment.  But  pride  is  not  all,  even  to  a  man 
of  his  daring  ambition.  Gradually  he  began  to 
realize,  first,  that  she  was  indifferent  to  him,  next, 
that  she  despised  him,  and,  lastly,  that  she  hated 
him.  She  had  dozens  at  her  feet,  any  of  whom  was 
more  agreeable  to  her  than  her  own  husband ;  and, 
though  he  could  not  put  his  finger  on  any  definite 
fault,  he  soon  wearied  of  a  beauty  that  only  glowed 
for  others,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  part  with  her 
rather  than  let  his  heart  be  eaten  out  by  unappeag- 
341 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

able  longing  for  what  his  own  good  sense  told  him 
would  never  be  his. 

Yet,  being  naturally  generous,  he  was  satisfied 
with  a  separation,  and,  finding  it  impossible  to  think 
of  her  as  other  than  extravagantly  fed,  waited  on 
and  clothed,  he  allowed  her  a  good  share  of  his  for 
tune  with  the  one  proviso,  that  she  should  not  dis 
grace  him.  But  the  diamond  she  stole,  or  rather 
carried  off  in  her  naturally  high-handed  manner 
with  the  rest  of  her  jewels.  He  had  never  given  it 
to  her.  She  knew  the  value  he  set  on  it,  but  not 
how  he  came  by  it,  and  would  have  worn  it  quite 
freely  if  he  had  not  very  soon  given  her  to  under 
stand  that  the  pleasure  of  doing  so  ceased  when  she 
left  his  house.  As  she  could  not  be  seen  with  it 
without  occasioning  public  remark,  she  was  forced, 
though  much  against  her  will,  to  heed  his  wishes, 
and  enjoy  its  brilliancy  in  private.  But  once,  when 
he  was  out  of  town,  she  dared  to  appear  with  this 
fortune  on  her  breast,  and  again  while  on  a  visit 
West, — and  her  husband  heard  of  it. 

Mr.  Fairbrother  had  had  the  jewel  set  to  suit 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

him,  not  in  Florence,  as  Sears  had  said,  but  by  a 
skilful  workman  he  had  picked  up  in  great  poverty 
in  a  remote  corner  of  Williamsburg.  Always  in 
dread  of  some  complication,  he  had  provided  him 
self  with  a  second  facsimile  in  paste,  this  time  of 
an  astonishing  brightness,  and  this  facsimile  h« 
had  had  set  precisely  like  the  true  stone.  Then 
he  gave  the  workman  a  thousand  dollars  and  sent 
him  back  to  Switzerland.  This  imitation  in  paste 
he  showed  nobody,  but  he  kept  it  always  in  his 
pocket;  why,  he  hardly  knew.  Meantime,  he  had 
one  confidant,  not  of  his  crime,  but  of  his  senti 
ments  toward  his  wife,  and  the  determination  he 
had  secretly  made  to  proceed  to  extremities  if  she 
continued  to  disobey  him. 

This  was  a  man  of  his  own  age  or  older,  who  had 
known  him  in  his  early  days,  and  had  followed  all 
his  fortunes.  He  had  been  the  master  of  Fair- 
brother  then,  but  he  was  his  servant  now,  and  as 
devoted  to  his  interests  as  if  they  were  his  own, — 
which,  in  a  way,  they  were.  For  eighteen  years  he 
had  stood  at  the  latter's  right  hand,  satisfied  to  look 
343 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

no  further,  but,  for  the  last  three,  his  glances  had 
strayed  a  foot  or  two  beyond  his  master,  and  taken 
in  his  master's  wife. 

The  feelings  which  this  man  had  for  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother  were  peculiar.  She  was  a  mere  adjunct  to 
her  great  lord,  but  she  was  a  very  gorgeous  one, 
and,  while  he  could  not  imagine  himself  doing  any 
thing  to  thwart  him  whose  bread  he  ate,  and  to 
whose  rise  he  had  himself  contributed,  yet  if  he 
could  remain  true  to  him  without  injuring  her,  he 
would  account  himself  happy.  The  day  came  when 
he  had  to  decide  between  them,  and,  against  all 
chances,  against  his  own  preconceived  notion  of 
what  he  would  do  under  these  circumstances,  he 
chose  to  consider  her. 

This  day  came  when,  in  the  midst  of  growing 
complacency  and  an  intense  interest  in  some  new 
scheme  which  demanded  all  his  powers,  Abner  Fair- 
brother  learned  from  the  papers  that  Mr.  Grey,  of 
English  Parliamentary  fame,  had  arrived  in  New 
York  on  an  indefinite  visit.  As  no  cause  was  as 
signed  for  the  visit  beyond  a  natural  desire  on  the 
344 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

part  of  this  eminent  statesman  to  see  this  great 
country,  Mr.  Fair-brother's  fears  reached  a  sudden 
climax,  and  he  saw  himself  ruined  and  for  ever  dis 
graced  if  the  diamond  now  so  unhappily  out  of  his 
hands  should  fall  under  the  eyes  of  its  owner,  whose 
seeming  quiet  under  its  loss  had  not  for  a  moment 
deceived  him.  Waiting  only  long  enough  to  make 
sure  that  the  distinguished  foreigner  was  likely  to 
accept  social  attentions,  and  so  in  all  probability 
would  be  brought  in  contact  with  Mrs.  Fairbrother, 
he  sent  her  by  his  devoted  servant  a  peremptory 
message,  in  which  he  demanded  back  his  diamond; 
and,  upon  her  refusing  to  heed  this,  followed  it  up 
by  another,  in  which  he  expressly  stated  that  if  she 
took  it  out  of  the  safe  deposit  in  which  he  had  been 
told  she  was  wise  enough  to  keep  it,  or  wore  it  so 
much  as  once  during  the  next  three  months,  she 
would  pay  for  her  presumption  with  her  life. 

This  was  no  idle  threat,  though  she  chose  to  re 
gard  it  as  such,  laughing  in  the  old  servant's  face 
and  declaring  that  she  would  run  the  risk  if  the 
notion  seized  her.    But  the  notion  did  not  seem  to 
34,5 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

seize  her  at  once,  and  her  husband  was  beginning 
to  take  heart,  when  he  heard  of  the  great  ball  about 
to  be  given  by  the  Ramsdells  and  realized  that  if 
she  were  going  to  be  tempted  to  wear  the  diamond 
at  all,  it  would  be  at  this  brilliant  function  given  in 
honor  of  the  one  man  he  had  most  cause  to  fear  in 
the  whole  world. 

Sears,  seeing  the  emotion  he  was  under,  watched 
him  closely.  They  had  both  been  on  the  point  of 
starting  for  New  Mexico  to  visit  a  mine  in  which 
Mr.  Fairbrother  was  interested,  and  he  waited  with 
inconceivable  anxiety  to  see  if  his  master  would 
change  his  plans.  It  was  while  he  was  in  this  condi 
tion  of  mind  that  he  was  seen  to  shake  his  fist  at 
Mrs.  Fairbrother's  passing  figure ;  a  menace  natu 
rally  interpreted  as  directed  against  her,  but  which, 
if  we  know  the  man,  was  rather  the  expression  of  his 
anger  against  the  husband  who  could  rebuke  and 
threaten  so  beautiful  a  creature.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Fairbrother's  preparations  went  on  and,  three 
weeks  before  the  ball,  they  started.  Mr.  Fair- 
brother  had  business  in  Chicago  and  business  in 
346 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

Denver.  It  was  two  weeks  and  more  before  he 
reached  La  Junta.  Sears  counted  the  days.  At 
La  Junta  they  had  a  long  conversation ;  or  rather 
Mr.  Fairbrother  talked  and  Sears  listened.  The 
sum  of  what  he  said  was  this:  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  have  back  his  diamond.  He  was 
going  to  New  York  to  get  it.  He  was  going 
alone,  and  as  he  wished  no  one  to  know  that  he  had 
gone  or  that  his  plans  had  been  in  any  way  inter 
rupted,  the  other  was  to  continue  on  to  El  Moro, 
and,  passing  himself  off  as  Fairbrother,  hire  a  room 
at  the  hotel  and  shut  himself  up  in  it  for  ten  days 
on  any  plea  his  ingenuity  might  suggest.  If  at  the 
end  of  that  time  Fairbrother  should  rejoin  him, 
well  and  good.  They  would  go  on  together  to  Santa 
Fe.  But  if  for  any  reason  the  former  should  delay 
his  return,  then  Sears  was  to  exercise  his  own  ju3g- 
ment  as  to  the  length  of  time  he  should  retain  his 
borrowed  personality;  also  as  to  the  advisability 
of  pushing  on  to  the  mine  and  entering  on  the  work 
there,  as  had  been  planned  between  them. 

Sears  knew  what  all  this  meant.    He  understood 
347 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  'ALCOVE 

what  was  in  his  master's  mind,  as  well  as  if  he  had 
been  taken  into  his  full  confidence,  and  openly  ac 
cepted  his  part  of  the  business  with  seeming  alac 
rity,  even  to  the  point  of  supplying  Fairbrother 
with  suitable  references  as  to  the  ability  of  one 
James  Wellgood  to  fill  a  waiter's  place  at  fashiona 
ble  functions.  It  was  not  the  first  he  had  given  him. 
Seventeen  years  before  he  had  written  the  same, 
minus  the  last  phrase.  That  was  when  he  was  the 
master  and  Fairbrother  the  man.  But  he  did  not 
mean  to  play  the  part  laid  out  for  him,  for  all  his 
apparent  acquiescence.  He  began  by  following  tne 
other's  instructions.  He  exchanged  clothes  with 
him  and  other  necessaries,  and  took  the  train  for 
La  Junta  at  or  near  the  time  that  Fairbrother 
started  east.  But  once  at  El  Moro — once  regis 
tered  there  as  Abner  Fairbrother  from  New  York — 
he  took  a  different  course  from  the  one  laid  out  for 
him, — a  course  which  finally  brought  him  into  his 
master's  wake  and  landed  him  at  the  same  hour  in 
New  York. 

This  is  what  he  did.    Instead  of  shutting  him- 
348 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

self  up  in  his  room  he  expressed  an  immediate  de 
sire  to  visit  some  neighboring  mines,  and,  procur 
ing  a  good  horse,  started  off  at  the  first  available 
moment.  He  rode  north,  lost  himself  in  the  moun 
tains,  and  wandered  till  he  found  a  guide  intelli 
gent  enough  to  lend  himself  to  his  plans.  To  this 
guide  he  confided  his  horse  for  the  few  days  he  in 
tended  to  be  gone,  paying  him  well  and  promising 
him  additional  money  if,  during  his  absence,  he 
succeeded  in  circulating  the  report  that  he,  Abner 
Fairbrother,  had  gone  deep  into  the  mountains, 
bound  for  such  and  such  a  camp. 

Having  thus  provided  an  alibi,  not  only  for  him 
self,  but  for  his  master,  too,  in  case  he  should  need 
it,  he  took  the  direct  road  to  the  nearest  railway 
station,  and  started  on  his  long  ride  east.  He 
did  not  expect  to  overtake  the  man  he  had  been 
personating,  but  fortune  was  kinder  than  is  usual 
in  such  cases,  and,  owing  to  a  delay  caused  by  some 
accident  to  a  freight  train,  he  arrived  in  Chicago 
within  a  couple  of  hours  of  Mr.  Fairbrother,  and 
started  out  of  that  city  on  the  same  train.  But  not 
349 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

on  the  same  car.  Sears  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Fairbrother  on  the  platform,  and  was  careful  to 
keep  out  of  his  sight.  This  was  easy  enough.  He 
bought  a  compartment  in  the  sleeper  and  stayed  in 
it  till  they  arrived  at  the  Grand  Central  Station. 
Then  he  hastened  out  and,  fortune  favoring  him 
with  another  glimpse  of  the  man  in  whose  move 
ments  he  was  so  interested,  followed  him  into  the 
streets. 

Fairbrother  had  shaved  off  his  beard  before 
leaving  El  Moro.  Sears  had  shaved  his  off  on  the 
train.  Both  were  changed,  the  former  the  more, 
owing  to  a  peculiarity  of  his  mouth  which  up  till 
now  he  had  always  thought  best  to  cover.  Sears, 
therefore,  walked  behind  him  without  fear,  and  was 
almost  at  his  heels  when  this  owner  of  one  of  New 
York's  most  notable  mansions,  entered,  with  a 
spruce  air,  the  doors  of  a  prominent  caterer. 

Understanding  the  plot  now,  and  having  every 
thing  to  fear  for  his  mistress,  he  walked  the  streets 
for  some  hours  in  a  state  of  great  indecision.  Then 
he  went  up  to  her  apartment.  But  he  had  no  sooner 
350 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

come  witliin  sight  of  it  than  a  sense  of  disloyalty 
struck  him  and  he  slunk  away,  only  to  come  sidling 
back  when  it  was  too  late  and  she  had  started  for 
the  ball. 

Trembling  with  apprehension,  but  still  strangely 
divided  in  his  impulses,  wishing  to  serve  master  and 
mistress  both,  without  disloyalty  to  the  one  or  in 
jury  to  the  other,  he  hesitated  and  argued  with  him 
self,  till  his  fears  for  the  latter  drove  him  to  Mr. 
Ramsdell's  house. 

The  night  was  a  stormy  one.  The  heaviest  snow 
of  the  season  was  falling  with  a  high  gale  blowing 
down  the  Sound.  As  he  approached  the  house, 
which,  as  we  know,  is  one  of  the  modern  ones  in  the 
Riverside  district,  he  felt  his  heart  fail  him.  But 
as  he  came  nearer  and  got  the  full  effect  of  glancing 
lights,  seductive  music,  and  the  cheery  bustle  of 
crowding  carriages,  he  saw  in  his  mind's  eye  such  a 
picture  of  his  beautiful  mistress,  threatened,  un 
known  to  herself,  in  a  quarter  she  little  realized, 
that  he  lost  all  sense  of  what  had  hitherto  de 
terred  him.  Making  then  and  there  his  great  choice, 
$51 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

he  looked  about  for  the  entrance,  with  the  full  in 
tention  of  seeing  and  warning  her. 

But  this,  he  presently  perceived,  was  totally  im 
practicable.  He  could  neither  go  to  her  nor  expect 
her  to  come  to  him;  meanwhile,  time  was  passing, 
and  if  his  master  was  there —  The  thought  made 
his  head  dizzy,  and,  situated  as  he  was,  among  the 
carriages,  he  might  have  been  run  over  in  his  con 
fusion  if  his  eyes  had  not  suddenly  fallen  on  a 
lighted  window,  the  shade  of  which  had  been  inad 
vertently  left  up. 

Within  this  window,  which  was  only  a  few  feet 
above  his  head,  stood  the  glowing  image  of  a  woman 
clad  in  pink  and  sparkling  with  jewels.  Her  face 
was  turned  from  him,  but  he  recognized  her  splen 
dor  as  that  of  the  one  woman  who  could  never  be 
too  gorgeous  for  his  taste;  and,  alive  to  this  un 
expected  opportunity,  he  made  for  this  window 
with  the  intention  of  shouting  up  to  her  and  so  at 
tracting  her  attention. 

But  this  proved  futile,  and,  driven  at  last  to  the 
end  of  his  resources,  he  tore  out  a  slip  of  paper 
352 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

from  his  note-book  and,  in  the  dark  and  with  the 
blinding  snow  in  his  eyes,  wrote  the  few  broken 
sentences  which  he  thought  would  best  warn  her, 
without  compromising  his  master.  The  means  he 
took  to  reach  her  with  this  note  I  have  already  re 
lated.  As  soon  as  he  saw  it  in  her  hands  he  fled  the 
place  and  took  the  first  train  west.  He  was  in  a 
pitiable  condition,  when,  three  days  later,  he 
reached  the  small  station  from  which  he  had  origi 
nally  set  out.  The  haste,  the  exposure,  the  horror 
of  the  crime  he  had  failed  to  avert,  had  undermined 
his  hitherto  excellent  constitution,  and  the  symp 
toms  of  a  serious  illness  were  beginning  to  make 
themselves  manifest.  But  he,  like  his  indomitable 
master,  possessed  a  great  fund  of  energy  and  will 
power.  He  saw  that  if  he  was  to  save  Abner  Fair- 
brother  (and  now  that  Mrs.  Fairbrother  was  deao1, 
his  old  master  was  all  the  world  to  him)  he  must 
make  Fairbrother's  alibi  good  by  carrying  on  the 
deception  as  planned  by  the  latter,  and  getting  as 
soon  as  possible  to  his  camp  in  the  New  Mexico 
mountains.  He  knew  that  he  would  have  strength 
353 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

to  do  this  and  he  went  about  it  without  sparing  him 
self. 

Making  his  way  into  the  mountains,  he  found 
the  guide  and  his  horse  at  the  place  agreed  upon 
and,  paying  the  guide  enough  for  his  services  to 
insure  a  quiet  tongue,  rode  back  toward  El  Moro 
where  he  was  met  and  sent  on  to  Santa  Fe  as  already 
related. 

Such  is  the  real  explanation  of  the  well-nigh  un 
intelligible  scrawl  found  in  Mrs.  Fairbrother's 
hand  after  her  death.  As  to  the  one  which  left 
Miss  Grey's  bedside  for  this  same  house,  it  was, 
alike  in  the  writing  and  sending,  the  loving  freak 
of  a  very  sick  but  tender-hearted  girl.  She  had 
noted  the  look  with  which  Mr.  Grey  had  left  her, 
and,  in  her  delirious  state,  thought  that  a  line  in 
her  own  hand  would  convince  him  of  her  good  con 
dition  and  make  it  possible  for  him  to  enjoy  tKe 
evening.  She  was,  however,  too  much  afraid  of  her 
nurse  to  write  it  openly,  and  though  we  never  found 
that  scrawl,  it  was  doubtless  not  very  different  in 
appearance  from  the  one  with  which  I  had  con- 
354 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

founded  it.  The  man  to  whom  it  was  intrusted 
stopped  for  too  many  warming  drinks  on  his  way 
for  it  ever  to  reach  Mr.  Ramsdell's  house.  He  did 
not  even  return  home  that  night,  and  when  he  did 
put  in  an  appearance  the  next  morning,  he  was  dis 
missed. 

This  takes  me  back  to  the  ball  and  Mrs.  Fair- 
brother.  She  had  never  had  much  fear  of  her  hus 
band  till  she  received  his  old  servant's  note  in  the 
peculiar  manner  already  mentioned.  This,  coming 
through  the  night  and  the  wet  and  with  all  the 
marks  of  hurry  upon  it,  did  impress  her  greatly 
and  led  her  to  take  the  first  means  which  offered  of 
ridding  herself  of  her  dangerous  ornament.  The 
story  of  this  we  know. 

Meanwhile,  a  burning  heart  and  a  scheming 
brain  were  keeping  up  their  deadly  work  a  few 
paces  off  under  the  impassive  aspect  and  active 
movements  of  the  caterer's  newly-hired  waiter.  Ab- 
ner  Fairbrother,  whose  real  character  no  one  had 
ever  been  able  to  sound,  unless  it  was  the  man  who 
had  known  him  in  his  days  of  struggle,  was  one  of 
855 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

those  dangerous  men  who  can  conceal  under  a  still 
brow  and  a  noiseless  manner  the  most  violent  pas 
sions  and  the  most  desperate  resolves.  He  was 
angry  with  his  wife,  who  was  deliberately  jeopar 
dizing  his  good  name,  and  he  had  come  there  to  kill 
her  if  he  found  her  flaunting  the  diamond  in  Mr. 
Grey's  eyes ;  and  though  no  one  could  have  detected 
any  change  in  his  look  and  manner  as  he  passed 
through  the  room  where  these  two  were  standing, 
the  doom  of  that  fair  woman  was  struck  when  he 
saw  the  eager  scrutiny  and  indescribable  air  of 
recognition  with  which  this  long-defrauded  gentle 
man  eyed  his  own  diamond. 

He  had  meant  to  attack  her  openly,  seize  the 
diamond,  fling  it  at  Mr.  Grey's  feet,  and  then  kill 
himself.  That  had  been  his  plan.  But  when  he 
found,  after  a  round  or  two  among  the  guests,  that 
nobody  looked  at  him,  and  nobody  recognized  the 
well-known  millionaire  in  the  automaton-like  figure 
with  the  formally-arranged  whiskers  and  sleekly- 
combed  hair,  colder  purposes  intervened,  and  he 
asked  himself  if  it  would  not  be  possible  to  come 
356 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

upon  her  alone,  strike  his  blow,  possess  himself  of 
the  diamond,  and  make  for  parts  unknown  before 
his  identity  could  be  discovered.  He  loved  life  even 
without  the  charm  cast  over  it  by  this  woman.  Its 
struggles  and  its  hard-bought  luxuries  fascinated 
him.  If  Mr.  Grey  suspected  him,  why,  Mr.  Grey 
was  English,  and  he  a  resourceful  American.  If  it 
came  to  an  issue,  the  subtle  American  would  win  if 
Mr.  Grey  were  not  able  to  point  to  the  flaw  which 
marked  this  diamond  as  his  own.  And  this,  Fair- 
brother  had  provided  against,  and  would  succeed  in 
if  he  could  hold  his  passions  in  check  and  be  ready 
with  all  his  wit  when  matters  reached  a  climax. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  and  such  the  plans  of  the 
quiet,  attentive  man  who,  with  his  tray  laden  witH 
coffee  and  ices,  came  and  went  an  unnoticed  unit 
among  twenty  other  units  similarly  quiet  and  sim 
ilarly  attentive.  He  waited  on  lady  after  lady,  and 
when,  on  the  reissuing  of  Mr.  Durand  from  the  al 
cove,  he  passed  in  there  with  his  tray  and  his  two 
cups  of  coffee,  nobody  heeded  and  nobody  remem 
bered. 

357 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

It  was  all  over  in  a  minute,  and  he  came  out,  still 
unnoted,  and  went  to  the  supper-room  for  more 
cups  of  coffee.  But  that  minute  had  set  its  seal  on 
his  heart  for  ever.  She  was  sitting  there  alone  with 
her  side  to  the  entrance,  so  that  he  had  to  pass 
around  in  order  to  face  her.  Her  elegance  and  a 
certain  air  she  had  of  remoteness  from  the  scene 
of  which  she  was  the  glowing  center  when  she 
smiled,  awed  him  and  made  -his  hand  loosen  a  little 
on  the  slender  stiletto  he  held  close  against  the  bot 
tom  of  the  tray.  But  such  resolution  does  not  easily 
yield,  and  his  fingers  soon  tightened  again,  this 
time  with  a  deadly  grip. 

He  had  expected  to  meet  the  flash  of  the  diamond 
as  he  bent  over  her,  and  dreaded  doing  so  for  fear 
it  would  attract  his  eye  from  her  face  and  so  cost 
him  the  sight  of  that  startled  recognition  which 
would  give  the  desired  point  to  his  revenge.  But 
the  tray,  as  he  held  it,  shielded  her  breast  from 
view,  and  when  he  lowered  it  to  strike  his  blow,  he 
thought  of  nothing  but  aiming  so  truly  as  to  need 
no  second  blow.  He  had  had  his  experience  in  those 
358 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

old  years  in  a  mining  camp,  and  he  did  not  fear 
failure  in  this.  What  he  did  fear  was  her  utter 
ance  of  some  cry, — possibly  his  name.  But  she 
was  stunned  with  horror,  and  did  not  shriek, — 
horror  of  him  whose  eyes  she  met  with  her  glassy 
and  staring  ones  as  he  slowly  drew  forth  the 
weapon. 

Why  he  drew  it  forth  instead  of  leaving  it  in  her 
breast  he  could  not  say.  Possibly  because  it  gave 
him  his  moment  of  gloating  revenge.  When  in  an 
other  instant,  her  hands  flew  up,  and  the  tray 
tipped,  and  the  china  fell,  the  revulsion  came,  and 
his  eyes  opened  to  two  facts:  the  instrument  of 
death  was  still  in  his  grasp,  and  the  diamond,  on 
whose  possession  he  counted,  was  gone  from  his 
wife's  breast. 

It  was  a  horrible  moment.  Voices  could  be  heard 
approaching  the  alcove, — laughing  voices  that  in 
an  instant  would  take  on  the  note  of  horror.  And 
the  music, — ah !  how  low  it  had  sunk,  as  if  to  give 
place  to  the  dying  murmur  he  now  heard  issuing 
from  her  lips.  But  he  was  a  man  of  iron.  Thrust- 
859 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

ing  the  stiletto  into  the  first  place  that  offered,  he 
drew  the  curtains  over  the  staring  windows,  then 
slid  out  with  his  tray,  calm,  speckless  and  attentive 
as  ever,  dead  to  thought,  dead  to  feeling,  but 
aware,  quite  aware  in  the  secret  depths  of  his  be 
ing  that  something  besides  his  wife  had  been  killed 
that  night,  and  that  sleep  and  peace  of  mind  and 
all  pleasure  in  the  past  were  gone  for  ever. 

It  was  not  he  I  saw  enter  the  alcove  and  come 
out  with  news  of  the  crime.  He  left  this  role  to  one 
whose  antecedents  could  better  bear  investigation. 
His  part  was  to  play,  with  just  the  proper  display 
of  horror  and  curiosity,  the  ordinary  menial 
brought  face  to  face  with  a  crime  in  high  life,  fie 
could  do  this.  He  could  even  sustain  his  share  in 
the  gossip,  and  for  this  purpose  kept  near  the  other 
waiters.  The  absence  of  the  diamond  was  all  that 
troubled  him.  That  brought  him  at  times  to  the 
point  of  vertigo.  Had  Mr.  Grey  recognized  and 
claimed  it?  If  so,  he,  Abner  Fairbrother,  must  re 
main  James  Wellgood,  the  waiter,  indefinitely.  This 
would  require  more  belief  in  his  star  than  ever  he 
360 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

had  had  yet.  But  as  the  moments  passed,  and  no 
contradiction  was  given  to  the  universally-received 
impression  that  the  same  hand  which  had  struck  the 
blow  had  taken  the  diamond,  even  this  cause  of 
anxiety  left  his  breast  and  he  faced  people  witK 
more  and  more  courage  till  the  moment  when  he 
suddenly  heard  that  the  diamond  had  been  found 
in  the  possession  of  a  man  perfectly  strange  to  him, 
and  saw  the  inspector  pass  it  over  into  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Grey. 

Instantly  he  realized  that  the  crisis  of  his  fate 
was  on  him.  If  Mr.  Grey  were  given  time  to  iden 
tify  this  stone,  he,  Abner  Fairbrother,  was  lost  and 
the  diamond  as  well.  Could  he  prevent  this  ?  There 
was  but  one  way,  and  that  way  he  took.  Making 
use  of  his  ventriloquial  powers — he  had  spent  a 
year  on  the  public  stage  in  those  early  days,  play 
ing  just  such  tricks  as  these — he  raised  the  one  cry 
which  he  knew  would  startle  Mr.  Grey  more  than 
any  other  in  the  world,  and  when  the  diamond  fell 
from  his  hand,  as  he  knew  it  would,  he  rushed  for 
ward  and,  in  the  act  of  picking  it  up,  made  that 
361 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

exchange  which  not  only  baffled  the  suspicions  of 
the  statesman,  but  restored  to  him  the  diamond,  for 
whose  possession  he  was  now  ready  to  barter  Half 
his  remaining  days. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Grey  had  had  his  own  anxieties. 
During  this  whole  long  evening,  he  had  been  sus 
tained  by  the  conviction  that  the  diamond  of  which 
he  had  caught  but  one  passing  glimpse  was  the 
Great  Mogul  of  his  once  famous  collection.  So 
sure  was  he  of  this,  that  at  one  moment  he  found 
himself  tempted  to  enter  the  alcove,  demand  a  closer 
sight  of  the  diamond  and  settle  the  question  then 
and  there.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  take  in  his 
hands  the  two  cups  of  coffee  which  should  serve  as 
his  excuse  for  this  intrusion,  but  his  naturally 
chivalrous  instincts  again  intervened,  and  he  set  the 
cups  down  again — this  I  did  not  see — and  turned 
his  steps  toward  the  library  with  the  intention  of 
writing  her  a  note  instead.  But  though  he  found 
paper  and  pen  to  hand,  he  could  find  no  words  for 
so  daring  a  request,  and  he  came  back  into  the  hall, 
only  to  hear  that  the  woman  he  had  contemplated 
1862 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

addressing  had  just  been  murdered  and  her  great 
jewel  stolen. 

The  shock  was  too  much,  and  as  there  was  no 
leaving  the  house  then,  he  retreated  again  to  the 
library  where  he  devoured  his  anxieties  in  silence 
till  hope  revived  again  at  sight  of  the  diamond  in 
the  inspector's  hand,  only  to  vanish  under  the 
machinations  of  one  he  did  not  even  recognize  when 
he  took  the  false  jewel  from  his  hand. 

The  American  had  outwitted  the  Englishman 
and  the  triumph  of  evil  was  complete. 

Or  so  it  seemed.  But  if  the  Englishman  is  slow, 
he  is  sure.  Thrown  off  the  track  for  the  time  be 
ing,  Mr.  Grey  had  only  to  see  a  picture  of  the  sti 
letto  in  the  papers,  to  feel  again  that,  despite  all 
appearances,  Fairbrother  was  really  not  only  at 
the  bottom  of  the  thefts  from  which  his  cousin  and 
himself  had  suffered,  but  of  this  frightful  murder 
as  well.  He  made  no  open  move — he  was  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land  and  much  disturbed,  besides,  by 
his  fears  for  his  daughter — but  he  started  a  secret 
inquiry  through  his  old  valet,  whom  he  ran  across 
363 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

in  the  street,  and  whose  peculiar  adaptability  foi 
this  kind  of  work  he  well  knew. 

The  aim  of  these  inquiries  was  to  determine  if 
the  person,  whom  two  physicians  and  three  assist 
ants  were  endeavoring  to  nurse  back  to  health  on 
the  top  of  a  wild  plateau  in  a  remote  district  o£ 
New  Mexico,  was  the  man  he  had  once  entertained 
at  his  own  board  in  England,  and  the  adventures 
thus  incurred  would  make  a  story  in  itself.  But 
the  result  seemed  to  justify  them.  Word  came  after 
innumerable  delays,  very  trying  to  Mr.  Grey,  that 
he  was  not  the  same,  though  he  bore  the  name  of 
Pairbrother,  and  was  considered  by  every  one 
around  there  to  be  Fairbrother.  Mr.  Grey,  ignor 
ant  of  the  relations  between  the  millionaire  master 
and  his  man  which  sometimes  led  to  the  latter's  per 
sonifying  the  former,  was  confident  of  his  own  mis 
take  and  bitterly  ashamed  of  his  own  suspicions. 

But  a  second  message  set  him  right.  A  deception 
was  being  practised  down  in  New  Mexico,  and  this 
was  how  his  spy  had  found  it  out.  Certain  letters 
which  went  into  the  sick  tent  were  sent  away  again, 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

and  always  to  one  address.  He  had  learned  the  ad 
dress.  It  was  that  of  James  Wellgood,  C , 

Maine.  If  Mr.  Grey  would  look  up  this  Wellgood 
he  would  doubtless  learn  something  of  the  man  he 
was  so  interested  in. 

This  gave  Mr.  Grey  personally  something  to  do, 
for  he  would  trust  no  second  party  with  a  message 
involving  the  honor  of  a  possibly  innocent  man. 
As  the  place  was  accessible  by  railroad  and  his 
duty  clear,  he  took  the  journey  involved  and  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  a  glimpse  in  the  manner  we  know 
of  the  man  James  Wellgood.  This  time  he  recog 
nized  Fairbrother  and,  satisfied  from  the  circum 
stances  of  the  moment  that  he  would  be  making 
no  mistake  in  accusing  him  of  having  taken  the 
Great  Mogul,  he  intercepted  him  in  his  flight,  as 
you  have  already  read,  and  demanded  the  immediate 
return  of  his  great  diamond. 

And  Fairbrother?  We  shall  have  to  go  back  a 
little  to  bring  his  history  up  to  this  critical  instant. 

When  he  realized  the  trend  of  public  opinion; 
when  he  saw  a  perfectly  innocent  man  committed 
365 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  [ALCOVE 

to  the  Tombs  for  his  crime,  he  was  first  astonished 
and  then  amused  at  what  he  continued  to  regard  as 
the  triumph  of  his  star.  But  he  did  not  start  for 
El  Moro,  wise  as  he  felt  it  would  be  to  do  so.  Some 
thing  of  the  fascination  usual  with  criminals  kept 
him  near  the  scene  of  his  crime, — that,  and  an 
anxiety  to  see  how  Sears  would  conduct  himself  in 
the  Southwest.  That  Sears  had  followed  him  to 
New  York,  knew  his  crime,  and  was  the  strongest 
witness  against  him,  was  as  far  from  his  thoughts 
as  that  he  owed  him  the  warning  which  had  all  but 
balked  him  of  his  revenge.  When  therefore  he  read 
in  the  papers  that  "Abner  Fairbrother"  had  been 
found  sick  in  his  camp  at  Santa  Fe,  he  felt  that 
nothing  now  stood  in  the  way  of  his  entering  on 
the  plans  he  had  framed  for  ultimate  escape.  On 
his  departure  from  El  Moro  he  had  taken  the  pre 
caution  of  giving  Sears  the  name  of  a  certain  small 
town  on  the  coast  of  Maine  where  his  mail  was  to 
be  sent  in  case  of  a  great  emergency.  He  had 
chosen  this  town  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  he 
knew  all  about  it,  having  had  a  young  man  from 
366 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

there  in  his  employ ;  secondly,  because  of  its  neigh 
borhood  to  the  inlet  where  an  old  launch  of  his  had 
been  docked  for  the  winter.  Always  astute,  always 
precautionary,  he  had  given  orders  to  have  this 
launch  floated  and  provisioned,  so  that  now  he  had 
only  to  send  word  to  the  captain,  to  have  at  his 
command  the  best  possible  means  of  escape. 

Meanwhile,  he  must  make  good  his  position  in 

C .    He  did  it  in  the  way  we  know.    Satisfied 

that  the  only  danger  he  need  fear  was  the  discovery 
of  the  fraud  practised  in  New  Mexico,  he  had  con 
fidence  enough  in  Sears,  even  in  his  present  dis 
abled  state,  to  take  his  time  and  make  himself  solid 

with  the  people  of  C while  waiting  for  the  ice 

to  disappear  from  the  harbor.  This  accomplished 
and  cruising  made  possible,  he  took  a  flying  trip  to 
New  York  to  secure  such  papers  and  valuables  as 
he  wished  to  carry  out  of  the  country  with  him. 
They  were  in  safe  deposit,  but  that  safe  deposit 
was  in  his  strong  room  in  the  center  of  his  house 
in  Eighty-sixth  Street  (a  room  which  you  will  re 
member  in  connection  with  Sweetwater's  adventure). 

367 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

To  enter  his  own  door  with  his  own  latch-key,  in  the 
security  and  darkness  of  a  stormy  night,  seemed  to 
this  self-confident  man  a  matter  of  no  great  risk. 
Nor  did  he  find  it  so.  He  reached  his  strong  room, 
procured  his  securities  and  was  leaving  the  house, 
without  having  suffered  an  alarm,  when  some  in 
stinct  of  self-preservation  suggested  to  him  the  ad 
visability  of  arming  himself  with  a  pistol.  His  own 
was  in  Maine,  but  he  remembered  where  Sears  kept 
his  ;  he  had  seen  it  often  enough  in  that  old  trunk  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  the  Sierras.  He  accord 
ingly  went  up  stairs  to  the  steward's  room,  found 
the  pistol  and  became  from  that  instant  invincible. 
But  in  restoring  the  articles  he  had  pulled  out  he 
came  across  a  photograph  of  his  wife  and  lost  him 
self  over  it  and  went  mad,  as  we  have  heard  the 
detective  tell.  That  later,  he  should  succeed  in  trap 
ping  this  detective  and  should  leave  the  house  with 
out  a  qualm  as  to  his  fate  shows  what  sort  of  man  he 
was  in  moments  of  extreme  danger.  I  doubt,  from 
what  I  have  heard  of  him  since,  if  he  ever  gave  two 
thoughts  to  the  man  after  he  had  sprung  the  double 
308 


I  watched  that  smile  and  pressed  the  button."     Page 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

lock  on  him;  which,  considering  his  extreme  igno 
rance  of  who  his  victim  was  or  what  relation  he  bore 
to  his  own  fate,  was  certainly  remarkable. 

Back  again  in  C ,  he  made  his  final  prepara 
tions  for  departure.  He  had  already  communicated 
with  the  captain  of  the  launch,  who  may  or  may  not 
have  known  his  passenger's  real  name.  He  says 
that  he  supposed  him  to  be  some  agent  of  Mr.  Fair- 
brother's;  that  among  the  first  orders  he  received 
from  that  gentleman  was  one  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  to  follow  the  instructions  of  one  Wellgood  as  if 
they  came  from  himself;  that  he  had  done  so,  and 
not  till  he  had  Mr.  Fairbrother  on  board  had  he 
known  whom  he  was  expected  to  carry  into  other 
waters.  However,  there  are  many  who  do  not  be 
lieve  the  captain.  Fairbrother  had  a  genius  for 
rousing  devotion  in  the  men  who  worked  for  him, 
and  probably  this  man  was  another  Sears. 

To  leave  speculation,  all  was  in  train,  then,  and 
freedom  but  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  when  the 
boat  he  was  in  was  stopped  by  another  and  he  heard 
Mr.  Grey's  voice  demanding  the  jewel. 

369 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

The  shock  was  severe  and  he  had  need  of  all  tHe 
nerve  which  had  hitherto  made  his  career  so  pros 
perous,  to  sustain  the  encounter  with  the  calmness 
which  alone  could  carry  off  the  situation.  Declar 
ing1  that  the  diamond  was  in  New  York,  he  prom 
ised  to  restore  it  if  the  other  would  make  the 
sacrifice  worth  while  by  continuing  to  preserve  his 
hitherto  admirable  silence  concerning  him.  Mr. 
Grey  responded  by  granting  him  just  twenty-four 
hours ;  and  when  Fairbrother  said  the  time  was  not 
long  enough  and  allowed  his  hand  to  steal  ominous 
ly  to  his  breast,  he  repeated  still  more  decisively, 
"Twenty-four  hours." 

The  ex-miner  honored  bravery.  Withdrawing  his 
hand  from  his  breast,  he  brought  out  a  note-book 
instead  of  a  pistol  and,  in  a  tone  fully  as  deter 
mined,  replied :  "The  diamond  is  in  a  place  inacces 
sible  to  any  one  but  myself.  If  you  will  put  your 
name  to  a  promise  not  to  betray  me  for  the  thirty- 
six  hours  I  ask,  I  will  sign  one  to  restore  you  the 
diamond  before  one-thirty  o'clock  on  Friday." 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Grey. 
370 


THE    GREAT    MOGUL 

So  the  promises  were  written  and  duly  ex 
changed.  Mr.  Grey  returned  to  New  York  and 
Fair-brother  boarded  his  launch. 

The  diamond  really  was  in  New  York,  and  to  him 
it  seemed  more  politic  to  use  it  as  a  means  of  secur 
ing  Mr.  Grey's  permanent  silence  than  to  fly  tht 
country,  leaving  a  man  behind  him  who  knew  his 
secret  and  could  precipitate  his  doom  with  a  word. 
He  would,  therefore,  go  to  New  York,  play  his  last 
great  card  and,  if  he  lost,  be  no  worse  off  than  he 
was  now.  He  did  not  mean  to  lose. 

But  he  had  not  calculated  on  any  inherent  weak 
ness  in  himself, — had  not  calculated  on  Providence. 
A  dish  tumbled  and  with  it  fell  into  chaos  the  fair 
structure  of  his  dreams.  With  the  cry  of  "Grizel ! 
Grizel!"  he  gave  up  his  secret,  his  hopes  and  his 
life.  There  was  no  retrieval  possible  after  £hat. 
The  star  of  Abner  Fairbrother  had  set. 

Mr.  Grey  and  his  daughter  learned  very  soon  of 
my  relations  to  Mr.  Durand,  but  through  the  pre 
cautions  of  the  inspector  and  my  own  powers  of 
371 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  ALCOVE 

self-control,  no  suspicion  has  ever  crossed  their 
minds  of  the  part  I  once  played  in  the  matter  of  the 
stiletto. 

This  was  amply  proved  by  the  invitation  Mr. 
Durand  and  I  have  just  received  to  spend  our 
honeymoon  at  Darlington  Manor. 

THE    END 


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